PS  3249  W3  58  1900? 


3  1822  01046  6548 


PS  3249  W3  58  1900z 


3   1822  01046  6548 


r/  o 


A  SUMMER 


IN 


LESLIE  GOLDTHWAITE'S  LIFE 


BY 

MRS.  A.  D.  T.  WHITNEY 

AUTHOR  OF   "FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD," 
GAYWORTHYS,"   ETC.,   ETC. 


WITH   ILLSTRATIONS   BY 

AUGUSTUS   HOPPIN 


NEW  YORK 

HURST    &    COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


TO 


GRATEFUL    MEMORY    OF    MANY    YEAHB    0® 
KIND  AND  FAITHFUL  FRIENDSHIP 
THESE    PAGES  ARE 

AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED 


A    SUMMER  IN  LESLIE  GOU> 
THWAITE'S  LIFE. 


I. 

"  NOTHING  but  leaves — leaves — leaves!  The  green 
things  don't  know  enough  to  do  anything  better!  " 

Leslie  Goldthwaite  said  this,  standing  in  the  bay- 
window  among  her  plants,  which  had  been  green  and 
flourishing,  but  persistently  blossomless,  all  winter, 
and  now  the  spring  days  were  come. 

Cousin  Delight  looked  up ;  and  her  white  ruffling, 
that  she  was  daintily  hemstitching,  fell  to  her  lap,  as 
she  looked,  still  with  a  certain  wide  intentness  in  her 
eyes,  upon  the  pleasant  window,  and  the  bright,  fresh 
things  it  framed.  Not  the  least  bright  and  fresh  among 
them  was  the  human  creature  in  her  early  girlhood, 
tender  and  pleasant  in  its  beautiful  leafage,  but/?vait- 
ing,  like  any  other  young  and  growing  life,  to}  prove 
what  sort  of  flower  should  come  of  it. 

"  Now  you've  got  one  of  your  'thoughts,'  Cousin 
Delight !  I  see  it  '  biggening, '  as  Elspie  says. ' '  Leslie 
turned  round,  with  her  little  green  watering-pot  sus 
pended  in  her  hand,  waiting  for  the  thought. 

To  have  a  thought,  and  to  give  it,  were  nearly  sim- 

5 


6       A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

ultaneous  things  with  Cousin  Delight;  so  true,  so 
pure,  so  unselfish,  so  made  to  give,— like  perfume  or 
music,  which  cannot  be,  and  be  withheld,— were 
thoughts  with  her. 

I  must  say  a  word,  before  I  go  further,  of  Delight 
Goldthwaite.  I  think  of  her  as  of  quite  a  young  per 
son  ;  you,  youthful  readers,  would  doubtless  have  de 
clared  that  she  was  old,— very  old,  at  least  for  a  young 
lady.  She  was  twenty-eight,  at  this  time  of  which  I 
write;  Leslie,  her  young  cousin,  was  just ."  past  the 
half,  and  catching  up,"  as  she  said  herself, — being 
fifteen.  Leslie's  mother  called  Miss  Goldthwaite,  play 
fully,  "Ladies'  Delight";  and,  taking  up  the  idea, 
half  her  women-friends  knew  her  by  this  significant 
and  epigrammatic  title.  There  was  something  doubly 
pertinent  in  it.  She  made  you  think,  at  once,  of  noth 
ing  so  much  as  heart' s-ease ;  a  garden  heart' s-ease, — 
that  flower  of  many  names ;  not  of  the  frail,  scentless, 
wild  wood- violet, — she  had  been  cultured  to  something 
larger.  The  violet  nature  was  there,  colored  and 
shaped  more  richly,  and  gifted  with  rare  fragrance — 
for  those  whose  delicate  sense  could  perceive  it.  The 
very  face  was  a  pansy-face ;  with  its  deep,  large,  pur 
ple-blue  eyes,  and  golden  brows  and  lashes,  the  color 
of  her  hair, — pale  gold,  so  pale  that  careless  people 
who  had  perception  only  for  such  beauty  as  can  flash 
upon  you  from  a  crowd,  or  across  a  drawing-room, 
said  hastily  that  she  had  no  brows  or  lashes,  and  that 
this  spoiled  her.  She  was  not  a  beauty,  therefore; 
nor  was  she,  in  any  sort,  a  belle.  She  never  drew 
around  her  the  common  attention  that  is  paid  eagerly 
to  very  pretty,  outwardly  bewitching  girls,  and  she 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.       7 

never  seemed  to  care  for  this.  At  a  party,  she  was  as 
apt  as  not  to  sit  in  a  corner;  but  the  quiet  people, — 
the  mothers,  looking  on,  or  the  girls,  waiting  for  part 
ners, — getting  into  that  same  corner  also,  found  the 
best  pleasure  of  their  evening  there.  There  was  some 
thing  about  her  dress,  too,  that  women  appreciated 
most  fully;  the  delicate  textures, — the  finishings 
— and  only  those — of  rare,  exquisite  lace, — the  per 
fect  harmony  of  the  whole  unobtrusive  toilet, — 
women  looked  at  these  in  wonder  at  the  unerring 
instinct  of  her  taste  ;  in  wonder,  also,  that  they 
only  with  each  other  raved  about  her.  Nobody  had 
ever  been  supposed  to  be  devoted  to  her;  she  had 
never  been  reported  as  ' '  engaged  ' ' ;  there  had  never 
been  any  of  this  sort  of  gossip  about  her ;  gentlemen 
found  her,  they  said,  hard  to  get  acquainted  with ; 
she  had  not  much  of  the  small  talk  which  must  usually 
begin  an  acquaintance ;  a  few — her  relatives,  or  her 
elders,  or  the  husbands  of  her  intimate  married  friends 
— understood  and  valued  her ;  but  it  was  her  girl 
friends  and  women-friends  who  knew  her  best,  and 
declared  that  there  was  nobody  like  her ;  and  so  came 
her  sobriquet,  and  the  double  pertinence  of  it. 

Especially  she  was  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  delight. 
Leslie  had  no  sisters,  and  her  aunts  were  old, — far 
older  than  her  mother ;  on  her  father's  side,  a  broken 
and  scattered  family  had  left  few  ties  for  her ;  next  to 
her  mother,  and  even  closer,  in  some  young  sympa 
thies,  she  clung  to  Cousin  Delight. 

With  this  diversion,  we  will  go  back,  now,  to  her, 
and  to  her  thought. 

"I  was  thinking,"  she  said,  with  that  intent  look 


8      A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

in  her  eyes,  "I  often  think,  of  how  something  else 
was  found,  once,  having  nothing  but  leaves;  and  of 
what  came  to  it." 

"  I  know,"  answered  Leslie,  with  an  evasive  quick 
ness  ;  and  turned  round  with  her  watering-pot  to  her 
plants  again. 

There  was  sometimes  a  bit  of  waywardness  about 
Leslie  Goldthwaite ;  there  was  a  fitf ulness  of  frankness 
and  reserve.  She  was  eager  for  truth;  yet  now 
and  then  she  would  thrust  it  aside.  She  said  that 
* '  nobody  liked  a  nicely  pointed  moral  better  than  she 
did;  only  she  would  just  as  lief  it  shouldn't  be 
pointed  at  her."  The  fact  was,  she  Avas  in  that 
sensitive  state  in  which  many  a  young  girl  finds  her- 
self,  when  she  begins  to  ask  and  to  weigh  with  herself 
the  great  questions  of  life,  and  shrinks  shyly  from  the 
open  mention  of  the  very  thing  she  longs  more  fully 
to  apprehend. 

Cousin  Delight  took  no  notice ;  it  is,  perhaps,  likely 
that  she  understood  sufficiently  well  for  that.  She 
turned  toward  the  table  by  which  she  sat,  and  pulled 
towards  her  a  heavy  Atlas  that  lay  open  at  the  map  of 
Connecticut.  Beside  it  was  Lippincott's  Gazetteer, — 
open,  also. 

"Traveling,  Leslie?" 

"Yes.  I've  been  a  charming  journey  this  morn 
ing,  before  you  came.  I  wonder  if  I  ever  shall  travel 
in  reality.  I've  done  a  monstrous  deal  of  it  with 
maps  and  gazetteers. 

"  This  hasn't  been  one  of  the  stereotyped  tours,  it 
seems." 

"Ono!     What's  the  use   of  doing  Niagara  or  the 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.       9 

"White  Mountains,  or  even  New  York,  and  Philadel 
phia,  and  Washington,  on  the  map?  I've  been  one  o* 
my  little  by-way  trips ;  round  among  the  villages ;  stop 
ping  wherever  I  found  one  cuddled  in  between  a  river 
and  a  hill,  or  in  a  little  seashore  nook.  Those  are  the 
places,  after  all,  that  I  would  hunt  out,  if  I  had  plenty 
of  money  to  go  where  I  liked  with.  It's  so  pleasant 
to  imagine  how  the  people  live  there,  and  what  sort  of 
folks  they  would  be  likely  to  be.  It  isn't  so  much 
traveling  as  living  round, — awhile  in  one  home,  and 
then  in  another.  How  many  different  little  biding- 
places  there  are  in  the  world !  And  how  queer  it  is 
only  really  to  know  about  one  or  two  of  them !  " 

"  What's  this  place  you're  at  just  now  ?  Win- 
sted?" 

"  Yes;  there's  where  I've  brought  up,  at  the  end  of 
that  bi£  of  railroad.  It's  a  bigger  place  than  I  fancied, 
though.  I  always  steer  clear  of  the  names  that  end  in 
'ville.'  They're  sure  to  be  stupid,  money-making 
towns,  all  grown  up  in  a  minute,  with  some  common 
man's  name  tacked  on  to  them,  that  happened  to  build 
a  saw-mill,  or  something,  first.  But  Winsted  has  such 
a  sweet,  little,  quiet  English  sound.  I  know  it  never 
began  with  a  mill.  They  make  pins  and  clocks  and 
tools  and  machines  there  now ;  and  it's  '  the  largest 
and  most  prosperous  post-village  of  Litchfield  County.' 
But  I  don't  care  for  the  pins  and  machinery.  It's  got 
a  lake  alongside  of  it;  and  Still  Eiver — don't  that 
sound  nice  ? — runs  through ;  and  there  are  the  great 
hills — big  enough  to  put  on  the  map — out  beyond.  I 
can  fancy  where  the  girls  take  their  sunset  walks;  and 
the  moonlight  parties,  boating  on  the  pond,  and  the 


io    A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

way  the  woods  look,  round  Still  Kiver.  O  yes !  that's 
one  of  the  places  I  mean  to  go  to." 

Leslie  Goldthwaite  lived  in  one  of  the  inland  cities  of 
Massachusetts.  She  had  grown  up,  and  gone  to  school 
there,  and  had  never  yet  been  thirty  miles  away.  Her 
father  was  a  busy  lawyer,  making  a  handsome  living  for 
his  family,  and  laying  aside  abundantly  for  their  future 
provision,  but  giving  himself  no  lengthened  recreations, 
and  scarcely  thinking  of  them  as  needful  for  the  rest. 

It  was  a  pleasant,  large,  brown,  wooden  house  they 
lived  in,  on  the  corner  of  two  streets  ;  with  a  great, 
green  door-yard  about  it  on  two  sides,  where  chestnut 
and  cherry  trees  shaded  it  from  the  public  way,  and 
flower-beds  brightened  under  the  parlor  windows,  and 
about  the  porch.  Just  greenness  and  bloom  enough  to 
suggest,  always,  more ;  just  sweetness  and  sunshine  and 
bird-song  enough,  in  the  early  summer  days,  to  whisper 
of  broad  fields  and  deep  woods  where  they  rioted  with 
out  stint ;  and  these  days  always  put  Leslie  into  a  certain 
happy  impatience,  and  set  her  dreaming  and  imagining ; 
and  she  learned  a  great  deal  of  her  geography  in  the 
fashion  that  we  have  hinted  at. 

Miss  Goldthwaite  was  singularly  discursive  and  frag 
mentary  in  her  conversation  this  morning,  somehow. 
She  dropped  the  map-traveling  suddenly,  and  asked  a 
new  question.  ' '  And  how  comeson  the  linen-drawer?  ' ' 

"O  Cousin  Del!  I'm  humiliated, — disgusted!  I  feel 
as  small  as  butterflies'  pinfeathers !  I've  been  to  see 
the  Haddens.  Mrs.  Linceford  has  just  got  home  from 
Paris,  and  brought  them  wardrobes  to  last  to  remotest 
posterity!  And  such  things!  Such  rufflings,  and 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life,     n 

stitchings,  and  embroiderings !     Why,   mine  look — as 
if  they'd  been  made  by  the  blacksmith !  ': 

The  < '  linen-drawer ' '  was  an  institution  of  Mrs. 
Goldthwaite's;  resultant,  partly,  from  her  old-fash 
ioned  New  England  ideas  of  womanly  industry  and 
thrift, — born  and  brought  up,  as  she  had  been,  in  a 
family  whose  traditions  were  of  house -linen  sufficient 
for  a  lifetime  spun  and  woven  by  girls  before  their 
twenty-first  year,  and  whose  inheritance,  from  mother 
to  daughter,  was  invariably  of  needfully  stored  per 
sonal  and  household  plenishings,  made  of  pure  material 
that  was  worth  the  laying  by,  and  carefully  bleached 
and  looked  to  year  by  year;  partly,  also,  from  a 
certain  theory  of  wisdom  which  she  had  adopted,  that 
when  girls  were  once  old  enough  to  care  for  and  pride 
themselves  on  a  plentiful  outfit,  it  was  best  they  should 
have  it  as  a  natural  prerogative  of  young-ladyhood, 
rather  than  that  the  "  trousseau  "  should  come  to  be, 
as  she  believed  it  so  apt  to  be,  one  of  the  inciting 
temptations  to  heedless  matrimony.  I  have  heard  of 
a  mother  whose  passion  was  for  elegant  old  lace ;  and 
who  boasted  to  her  female  friends,  that,  when  her  little 
daughter  was  ten  years  old,  she  had  her  "lace-box," 
with  the  beginning  of  her  hoard  in  costly  contributions 
from  the  stores  of  herself  and  of  the  child's  maiden 
aunts.  Mrs.  Goldthwaite  did  a  better  and  more  sen 
sible  thing  than  this ;  when  Leslie  was  fifteen,  she  pre 
sented  her  with  pieces  of  beautiful  linen  and  cotton 
and  cambric,  and  bade  her  begin  to  make  garments 
which  should  be  in  dozens,  to  be  laid  by,  in  reserve, 
as  she  completed  them,  until  she  had  a  well-filled 
bureau  that  should  defend  her  from  the  necessity  of 


12     A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

what  she  called  a  "wretched  living  from  hand  to 
mouth, — always  having  underclothing  to  make  up,  in 
the  midst  of  all  else  that  she  would  find  to  do  and  to 
learn." 

Leslie  need  not  have  been  ashamed,  and  I  don't 
think  in  her  heart  she  was,  of  the  fresh,  white,  light 
lying  piles  that  had  already  begun  to  make  promise  of 
filling  a  drawer,  which  she  drew  out  as  she  answered 
Cousin  Delight's  question. 

The  fine-lined  gathers ;  the  tiny  dots  of  stitches  that 
held  them  to  their  delicate  bindings ;  the  hems  and  tucks, 
true  to  a  thread,  and  dotted  with  the  same  fairy  needle- 
dimples  ;  (no  machine- work,  but  all  real,  dainty  finger- 
craft  ;)  the  bits  of  ruffling  peeping  out  from  the  folds, 
with  their  edges  in  almost  invisible  whip-hems ;  and 
here  and  there  a  finishing  of  lovely,  lace-like  crochet, 
done  at  odd  minutes,  and  for  "  visiting- work  "  ; — there 
was  something  prettier  and  more  precious,  really,  in 
all  this,  than  in  the  imported  fineries  which  had  come, 
without  labor  and  without  thought,  to  her  friends  the 
Haddens.  Besides,  there  were  the  pleasant  talks  and 
readings  of  the  winter  evenings,  all  threaded  in  and 
out,  and  associated  indelibly  with  every  seam.  There 
was  the  whole  of  David  Copperfield,  and  the  beginning 
of  Our  Mutual  Friend,  ruffled  up  into  the  night-dresses ; 
and  some  of  the  crochet  was  beautiful  with  the  rhymed 
pathos  of  Enoch  Arden,  and  some  with  the  poetry  of 
the  "Wayside  Inn ;  and  there  were  places  where  stitches 
had  had  to  be  picked  out  and  done  over,  when  the  eye 
grew  dim  and  the  hand  trembled  while  the  great  war- 
news  was  being  read. 

Leslie  loved  it,  and  had  a  pride  in  it  all ;  it  was  not. 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     13 

truly  and  only,  humiliation  and  disgust  at  self-compari 
son  with  the  Haddens,  but  some  other  and  unexplained 
doubt  which  moved  her  now,  and  which  was  stirred 
often  by  this,  or  any  other  of  the  objects  and  circum 
stances  of  her  life,  and  which  kept  her  standing  there 
with  her  hand  upon  the  bureau-knob,  in  a  sort  of 
absence,  while  Cousin  Delight  looked  in,  approved, 
and  presently  dropped  quietly,  like  a  bit  of  money 
into  a  contribution-box,  the  delicate  breadths  of  linen 
cambric  she  had  finished  hemstitching,  and  rolled 
together  among  the  rest. 

"  O,  thank  you!  But,  Cousin  Delight,"  said  Leslie, 
shutting  the  drawer,  and  turning  short  round,  sud 
denly,  "  I  wish  you'd  just  tell  me — what  you  think — 
is  the  sense  of  that — about  the  fig-tree !  I  suppose 
it's  awfully  wicked,  but  I  never  could  see.  Is  every 
thing  fig-leaves  that  isn't  out  and  out  fruit,  and  is 
it  all  to  be  cursed,  and  why  should  there  be  anything 
but  leaves  when  '  the  time  of  figs  was  not  yet '?  " 
After  her  first  hesitation,  she  spoke  quickly,  impet 
uously,  and  without  pause,  as  something  that  would 
come  out. 

' '  I  suppose  that  has  troubled  you,  as  I  dare  say  it 
has  troubled  a  great  many  other  people,"  said  Cousin 
Delight.  ' '  It  used  to  be  a  puzzle  and  a  trouble  to  me. 
But  now  it  seems  to  me  one  of  the  most  beautiful  things 
of  all."  She  paused. 

"  I  can  not  see  how,"  said  Leslie,  emphatically. 
"  It  always  seems  to  me  so — somehow — unreasonable ; 
and — angry. ' ' 

She  said  this  in  a  lower  tone,  as  afraid  of  the  uttered 
audacity  of  her  own  thought ;  and  she  walked  off,  as 


14    A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

she  spoke,  toward  the  window  once  more,  and  stood 
with  her  back  to  Miss  Goldthwaite,  almost  as  if  she 
wished  to  have  done,  again,  with  the  topic.  It  was 
not  easy  for  Leslie  to  speak  out  upon  such  things ;  it 
almost  made  her  feel  cross  when  she  had  done  it. 

"  People  mistake  the  true  cause  and  effect,  I  think," 
said  Delight  Goldthwaite,  "  and  so  lose  all  the  won 
derful  enforcement  of  that  acted  parable.  It  was  not, 
'  Cursed  be  the  fig-tree  because  I  have  found  nothing 
thereon ' ;  but,  '  Let  no  fruit  grow  on  thee,  hencefor 
ward,  forever. '  It  seems  to  me  I  can  hear  the  tone 
of  tender  solemnity  in  which  Jesus  would  say  such 
words ;  knowing,  as  only  he  knew,  all  that  they  meant, 
and  what  should  come,  inevitably,  of  such  a  sentence. 
1  And  presently  the  fig-tree  withered  away. '  The  life 
was  nothing,  any  longer,  from  the  moment  when  it 
might  not  be,  what  all  life  is,  a  reaching  forward  to 
the  perfecting  of  some  fruit.  There  was  nothing  to 
come,  ever  again,  of  all  its  greenness  and  beauty,  and 
the  greenness  and  beauty,  which  were  only  a  form  and 
a  promise,  ceased  to  be.  It  was  the  way  he  took  to 
show  his  disciples,  in  a  manner  they  should  never 
forget,  the  inexorable  condition  upon  which  all  life  is 
given,  and  that  the  barren  life,  so  soon  as  its  barren 
ness  is  absolutely  hopeless,  becomes  a  literal  death." 

Leslie  stood  still,  with  her  back  to  Miss  Goldthwaite, 
and  her  face  to  the  window.  Her  perplexity  was 
changed,  but  hardly  cleared.  There  were  many  things 
that  crowded  into  her  thoughts,  and  might  have  been 
spoken ;  but  it  was  quite  impossible  for  her  to  speak. 
Impossible  on  this  topic,  and  she  certainly  could  not 
speak,  at  once,  on  any  other. 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     15 

Many  seconds  of  silence  counted  themselves  between 
the  two.  Then  Cousin  Delight,  feeling  an  intuition  of 
much  that  held  and  hindered  the  young  girl,  spoke 
again.  "  Does  this  make  life  seem  hard  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Leslie,  then,  with  an  effort  that  hoars 
ened  her  very  voice,  ' '  frightful. ' '  And  as  she  spoke, 
she  turned  again  quickly,  as  if  to  be  motionless  longer 
were  to  invite  more  talk,  and  went  over  to  the  other 
window,  where  her  bird-cage  hung,  and  began  to  take 
down  the  glasses. 

"  Like  all  parables,  it  is  manifold,"  said  Delight, 
gently.  "  There  is  a  great  hope  in  it,  too." 

Leslie  was  at  her  basin,  now,  turning  the  water- 
faucet,  to  rinse  and  refill  the  little  drinking-vessel. 
She  handled  the  things  quietly,  but  she  made  no  pause. 

"  It  shows  that,  while  we  see  the  leaf,  we  may  have 
hope  of  the  fruit, — in  ourselves,  or  in  others." 

She  could  not  see  Leslie's  face.  If  she  had,  she 
would  have  perceived  a  quick  lifting  and  lightening 
upon  it.  Then,  a  questioning  that  would  not  very  long 
be  repressed  to  silence. 

The  glasses  were  put  in  the  cage  again,  and  presently 
Leslie  came  back  to  a  little  low  seat  by  Miss  Gold 
thwaite's  side,  which  she  had  been  occupying  before 
all  this  talk  began.  "  Other  people  puzzle  me  as  much 
as  my  self,"  she  said.  "I  think  the  whole  world  is 
running  to  leaves,  sometimes. ' ' 

"Some  things  flower  almost  invisibly,  and  hide 
nway  their  fruit  under  thick  foliage.  It  is  often  only 
when  the  winds  shake  their  leaves  down,  and  strip  the 
branches  bare,  that  we  find  the  best  that  has  been 
growing. ' ' 


16    A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

' '  They  make  a  great  fuss  and  flourish  with  the  leaves, 
though,  as  long  as  they  can.  And  it's  who  shall  grow 
the  broadest  and  tallest,  and  flaunt  out  with  the  most 
of  them.  After  all,  it's  natural ;  and  they  are  beau 
tiful,  in  themselves.  And  there's  a  'time'  for  leaves, 
too,  before  the  figs." 

' '  Exactly.  We  have  a  right  to  look  for  the  leaves, 
and  to  be  glad  of  them.  That  is  a  part  of  the  parable. ' ' 

"Cousin  Delight!  Let's  talk  of  real  things,  and 
let  the  parable  alone  a  minute. ' ' 

Leslie  sprang,  impulsively,  to  her  bureau,  again,  and 
flung  forth  the  linen  drawer. 

"There  are  my  fig-leaves, — some  of  them, — and 
here  are  more. ' '  She  turned,  with  a  quick  movement, 
to  her  wardrobe ;  pulled  out  and  uncovered  a  bonnet- 
box  which  held  a  dainty  headgear  of  the  new  spring 
fashion,  and  then  took  down  from  a  hook  and  tossed 
upon  it  a  silken  garment  that  fluttered  with  fresh  rib 
bons.  "  How  much  of  this  outside  business  is  right, 
and  how  much  wrong,  I  should  be  glad  to  know?  It 
all  takes  time  and  thoughts ;  and  those  are  life.  How 
much  life  must  go  into  the  leaves?  That's  what  puz 
zles  me.  I  can't  do  without  the  things ;  and  I  can't 
be  let  to  take  '  clear  comfort '  in  them,  as  grandma 
says,  either."  She  was  on  the  floor,  now,  beside  her 
little  fineries ;  her  hands  clasped  together  about  one 
knee,  and  her  face  turned  up  to  Cousin  Delight's.  She 
looked  as  if  she  half  believed  herself  to  be  ill  used. 

"  And  clothes  are  but  the  first  want, — the  primitive 
fig-leaves ;  the  world  is  full  of  other  outside  business, 
— as  much  outside  as  these,"  pursued  Miss  Goldthwaite, 
thoughtfully.  "Everything  is  outside.  Learning, 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     17 

and  behaving,  and  going,  and  doing,  and  seeing,  and 
hearing,  and  having.  'It's  all  a  muddle,'  as  the  poor 
man  says  in  Hard  Times." 

"I  don't  think  I  can  do  without  the  parable,"  said 
Cousin  Delight.  ' '  The  real  inward  principle  of  the 
tree — that  which  corresponds  to  thought  and  purpose 
in  the  soul — urges  always  to  the  finishing  of  its  life  in 
the  fruit.  The  leaves  are  only  by  the  way, — an  out 
growth  of  the  same  vitality,  and  a  process  toward  the 
end ;  but  never,  in  any  living  thing,  the  end  itself. ' ' 

' '  Um, ' '  said  Leslie,  in  her  nonchalant  fashion  again  ; 
her  chin  between  her  two  hands  now,  and  her  head 
making  little  appreciative  nods.  "That's  like  con 
densed  milk ;  a  great  deal  in  a  little  of  it.  I'll  put 
the  fig-leaves  away  now,  and  think  it  over." 

But,  as  she  sprang  up,  and  came  round  behind  Miss 
Goldthwaite's  chair,  she  stopped  and  gave  her  a  little 
kiss  on  the  top  of  her  head.  If  Cousin  Delight  had 
seen,  there  was  a  bright  softness  in  the  eyes,  which 
told  of  feeling,  and  of  gladness  that  welcomed  the 
quick  touch  of  truth. 

Miss  Goldthwaite  knew  one  good  thing, — when  she 
had  driven  her  nail.  "  She  never  hammered  in  the 
head  with  a  punch,  like  a  carpenter,"  Leslie  said  of 
her.  She  believed  that,  in  moral  tool-craft,  that  finish 
ing  implement  belonged  properly  to  the  hand  of  aa, 
after-workman. 


j  8    A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 


n. 


I  HAVE  mentioned  one  little  theory,  relating  solely 
to  domestic  thrift,  which  guided  Mrs.  Goldthwaite  in 
her  arrangements  for  her  daughter.  I  believe  that, 
with  this  exception,  she  brought  up  her  family  very 
nearly  without  any  theory  whatever.  She  did  it  very 
much  on  the  taking-for-granted  system.  She  took  for 
granted  that  her  children  were  born  with  the  same 
natural  perceptions  as  herself ;  that  they  could  recog 
nize,  little  by  little,  as  they  grew  into  it,  the  principles 
of  the  moral  world, — reason,  right,  propriety, — as 
they  recognized,  growing  into  them,  the  conditions  of 
their  outward  living.  She  made  her  own  life  a  con 
sistent  recognition  of  these,  and  she  lived  openly  before 
them.  There  was  never  any  course  pursued  with  sole 
calculation  as  to  its  effect  on  the  children.  Family 
discussion  and  deliberation  was  seldom  with  closed 
doors.  Questions  that  came  up  were  considered  as 
they  came ;  and  the  young  members  of  the  household 
perceived  as  soon  as  their  elders  the  ' '  reasons  why ' ' 
of  most  decisions.  They  were  part  and  parcel  of  the 
whole  regime.  They  learned  politeness  by  being  as 
politely  attended  to  as  company.  They  learned  to  be 
reasonable  by  seeing  how  the  reason  compelled  father 
and  mothe'r,  and  not  by  having  their  vision  stopped 
short  at  the  arbitrary  fact  that  father  and  mother  com- 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     19 

pelled  them.  I  think,  on  the  whole,  the  Goldthwaite 
no-method  turned  out  as  good  a  method  as  any.  Men 
have  found  out  lately  that  horses  even  may  be  guided 
without  reins. 

It  was  characteristic,  therefore,  that  Mrs.  Gold 
thwaite — receiving  one  day  a  confidential  note  proposing 
to  her  a  pleasant  plan  in  behalf  of  Leslie,  and  intended 
to  guard  against  a  premature  delight  and  eagerness, 
and  so  perhaps  an  ultimate  disappointment  for  that 
young  lady — should  instantly,  on  reading  it,  lay  it 
open  upon  the  table  before  her  daughter.  "  From 
Mrs.  Linceford,"  she  said,  "  and  concerning  you." 

Leslie  took  it  up,  expecting,  possibly,  an  invitation 
to  tea.  When  she  saw  what  it  really  was,  her  dark 
eyes  almost  blazed  with  sudden,  joyous  excitement. 

' '  Of  course,  I  should  be  delighted  to  say  yes  for  you, ' ' 
said  Mrs.  Goldthwaite,  "but  there  are  things  to  be 
considered.  I  can't  tell  how  it  will  strike  your  father. ' ' 

"  School,"  suggested  Leslie,  the  light  in  her  eyes 
quieting  a  little. 

"  Yes,  and  expense ;  though  I  don't  think  he  would 
refuse  on  that  score.  I  should  have  J,iked" — Mrs. 
Goldthwaite's  tone  was  only  half,  and  very  gently, 
objecting ;  there  was  an  inflection  of  ready  self -relin- 
quishment  in  it  also — "  to  have  had  yourjirst  journey 
with  me.  But  you  might  have  waited  a  long  time  for 
that." 

If  Leslie  were  disappointed  in  the  end,  she  would 
have  known  that  her  mother's  heart  had  been  with 
her  from  the  beginning,  and  grown  people  seldom 
realize  how  this  helps  even  the  merest  child  to  bear 
a  denial. 


2O     A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

"  There  is  only  a  month  now  to  vacation,"  said  the 
young  girl. 

"  What  do  you  think  Mr.  Waylie  would  say?  " 

"I  really  think,"  answered  Leslie,  after  a  pause, 
"  that  he  would  say  it  was  better  than  books." 

They  sat  at  their  sewing  together,  after  this,  with 
out  speaking  very  much  more,  at  the  present  time, 
about  it.  Mrs.  Goldthwaite  was  thinking  it  over  in 
her  motherly  mind,  and  in  the  mind  of  Leslie  thought 
and  hope  and  anticipation  were  dancing  a  reel  with 
each  other.  It  is  time  to  tell  the  reader  of  the  what 
and  why. 

Mrs.  linceford,  the  elder  married  daughter  of  the 
Hadden  family, — many  years  the  elder  of  her  sisters, 
Jeannie  and  Elinor, — was  about  to  take  them,  under 
her  care,  to  the  mountains  for  the  summer,  and  she 
kindly  proposed  joining  Leslie  Goldthwaite  to  her 
charge.  * '  The  Mountains  ' '  in  New  England  means 
always,  in  common  speech,  the  one  royal  range  of  the 
White  Hills. 

You  can  think  what  this  opportunity  was  to  a  young 
girl  full  of  fancy,  loving  to  hunt  out,  even  by  map  and 
gazetteer,  the  by-nooks  of  travel,  and  wondering 
already  if  she  should  ever  really  journey  otherwise. 
You  can  think  how  she  waited,  trying  to  believe  she 
could  bear  any  decision,  for  the  final  determination 
concerning  her. 

"  If  it  had  been  to  Newport  or  Saratoga,  I  should 
have  said  no  at  once,"  said  Mr.  Goldthwaite.  "  Mrs. 
linceford  is  a  gay,  extravagant  woman,  and  the  Had- 
dens'  ideas  don't  precisely  suit  mine.  But  the  moun 
tains, — she  can't  get  into  much  harm  there." 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     21 

< '  I  shouldn't  have  cared  for  Newport,  or  the  Springs, 
father,  truly, ' '  said  Leslie,  with  a  little  hopeful  flutter 
of  eagerness  in  her  voice,  "  but  the  real  mountains, — 
O  father  !  " 

The  UO  father!"  was  not  without  its  weight. 
Also,  Mr.  "Waylie,  whom  Mr.  Goldthwaite  called  on 
and  consulted,  threw  his  opinion  into  the  favoring 
scale,  precisely  as  Leslie  had  foreseen.  He  was  a 
teacher  who  did  not  imagine  all  possible  educational 
advantage  to  be  shut  up  within  the  four  walls  of  his 
or  any  other  schoolroom.  "  She  is  just  the  girl  to 
whom  it  will  do  great  good,"  he  said.  Leslie's  last 
week's  lessons  were  not  accomplished  the  less  satis 
factorily  for  this  word  of  his,  and  the  pleasure  it  opened 
to  her. 

There  came  a  few  busy  days  of  stitching  and  starch 
ing,  and  crimping  and  packing,  and  then,  in  the  last 
of  June,  they  would  be  off.  They  were  to  go  on 
Monday.  The  Haddens  came  over  on  Saturday  after 
noon,  just  as  Leslie  had  nearly  put  the  last  things  into 
her  trunk, — a  new  trunk,  quite  her  own,  with  her  in 
itials  in  black  paint  upon  the  russet  leather  at  each  end. 
On  the  bed  lay  her  pretty  balmoral  suit,  made  pur 
posely  for  mountain  wear,  and  just  finished.  The 
young  girls  got  together  here,  in  Leslie's  chamber,  of 
course. 

"O  how  pretty!  It's  perfectly  charming, — the 
loveliest  balmoral  I  ever  saw  in  my  life !  ' '  cried  Jeannie 
Hadden,  seizing  upon  it  instantly  as  she  entered  the 
room.  "  Why,  you'll  look  like  a  hamadryad,  all  in 
these  wood-browns!  " 

It  was  an  uncommonly  pretty  striped  petticoat,  in 


22     A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

two  alternating  shades  of  dark  and  golden  brown,  with 
just  a  hair-line  of  black  defining  their  edges ;  and  the 
border  was  one  broad,  soft,  velvety  band  of  black,  and 
a  narrower  one  following  it  above  and  below,  easing 
the  contrast  and  blending  the  colors.  The  jacket,  or 
rather  shirt,  finished  at  the  waist  with  a  bit  of  a  polka 
frill,  was  a  soft  flannel,  of  the  bright  brown  shade, 
braided  with  the  darker  hue,  and  with  black;  and 
two  pairs  of  bright  brown  raw-silk  stockings,  marked 
transversely  with  mere  thread-lines  of  black,  completed 
the  mountain  outfit. 

"  Yes;  all  I  want  is — "  said  Leslie,  stopping  short 
as  she  took  up  the  hat  that  lay  there  also, — a  last 
summer's  hat,  a  plain  black  straw,  with  a  slight  brim, 
and  ornamented  only  with  a  round  lace  veil  and  two 
bits  of  ostrich  feather.  "But  nevermind!  It'll  do 
well  enough !  ' 

As  she  laid  it  down  again  and  ceased  speaking, 
Cousin  Delight  came  in,  straight  from  Boston,  where 
she  had  been  doing  two  days'  shopping;  and  in  her 
hand  she  carried  a  parcel  in  white  paper.  I  was  going 
to  say  a  round  parcel,  which  it  would  have  been  but 
for  something  which  ran  out  in  a  sharp  tangent  from 
one  side,  and  pushed  the  wrappings  into  an  odd  angle. 
This  she  put  into  Leslie's  hands. 

"  A  fresh — fig-leaf — for  you,  my  dear.'* 

"  What  does  she  mean?  "  cried  the  Haddens,  com 
ing  close  to  see. 

"  Only  a  little  Paradise-fashion  of  speech  between 
Cousin  Del  and  me,"  said  Leslie,  coloring  a  little  and 
laughing,  while  she  began,  somewhat  hurriedly,  to 
remove  the  wrappings. 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     23 

"What  have  you  done?  And  how  did  you  come 
to  think?  "  she  exclaimed,  as  the  thing  enclosed  ap 
peared  :  a  round  brown  straw  turban, — not  a  staring 
turban,  but  one  of  those  that  slope  with  a  little  grace 
ful  downward  droop  upon  the  brow, — bound  with  a 
pheasant's  breast,  the  wing  shooting  out  jauntily,  in 
the  tangent  I  mentioned,  over  the  right  ear;  all  in 
bright  browns,  in  lovely  harmony  with  the  rest  of  the 
hamadryad  costume. 

"It's  no  use  to  begin  to  thank  you,  Cousin  Del. 
It's  just  one  of  the  things  you're  always  doing,  and 
rejoice  in  doing. ' '  The  happy  face  was  full  of  loving 
thanks,  plainer  than  many  words.  "Only  you're  a 
kind  of  a  sarpent  yourself,  after  all,  I'm  afraid,  with 
your  beguilements.  I  wonder  if  you  thought  of  that, ' ' 
whispered  Leslie,  merrily,  while  the  others  oh-ofrd 
over  the  gift.  "  What  else  do  you  think  I  shall  be 
good  for  when  I  get  all  those  on?  " 

"I'll  venture  you,"  said  Cousin  Delight;  and  the 
trifling  words  conveyed  a  real,  earnest  confidence,  the 
best  possible  antidote  to  the  ' '  beguilement. ' ' 

"  One  thing  is  funny,"  said  Jeannie  Hadden,  sud 
denly,  with  an  accent  of  demur.  ' '  We're  all  pheasants. 
Our  new  hats  are  pheasants,  too.  I  don't  know  what 
Augusta  will  think  of  such  a  covey  of  us." 

"  O,  it's  no  matter,"  said  Elinor.  "This  is  a 
golden  pheasant,  on  brown  straw,  and  ours  are  purple, 
on  black.  Besides,  we  all  look  different  enough." 

"1  suppose  it  doesn't  signify,"  returned  Jeannie; 
* '  and  if  Augusta  thinks  it  does,  she  may  just  give  me 
that  black  and  white  plover  of  hers  I  wanted  so.  I 
think  our  complexions  are  all  pretty  well  suited." 


24    A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

This  was  true.  The  fair  hair  and  deep  blue  eyes  of 
Elinor  were  as  pretty  under  the  purple  plumage  as 
Jeannie's  darker  locks  and  brilliant  bloom ;  and  there 
was  a  wonderful  bright  mingling  of  color  between  the 
golden  pheasant's  breast  and  the  gleaming  chestnut 
waves  it  crowned,  as  Leslie  took  her  hat  and  tried  it  on. 

This  was  one  of  the  little  touches  of  perfect  taste  and 
adaptation  which  could  sometimes  make  Leslie  Gold- 
thwaite  almost  beautiful ;  and  was  there  ever  a  girl  of 
fifteen  who  would  not  like  to  be  beautiful  if  she  could? 
This  wish,  and  the  thought  and  effort  it  would  induce, 
were  likely  to  be  her  great  temptation.  Passably 
pretty  girls,  who  may,  with  care,  make  themselves 
often  more  than  passable,  have  far  the  hardest  of  it 
with  their  consciences  about  these  things ;  and  Leslie 
had  a  conscience,  and  was  reflective  for  her  age, — and 
we  have  seen  how  questions  had  begun  to  trouble  her. 

A  Sunday  between  a  packing  and  a  journey  is  a  try 
ing  day  always.  There  are  the  trunks,  and  it  is  im 
possible  not  to  think  of  the  getting  up  and  getting  off 
to-morrow ;  and  one  hates  so  to  take  out  fresh  sleeves 
and  collars  and  pocket-handkerchiefs,  and  to  wear  one's 
nice  white  skirts.  It  is  a  Sunday  put  off,  too  probably, 
with  but  odds  and  ends  of  thought,  as  well  as  apparel. 

Leslie  went  to  church,  of  course, — the  Goldthwaites 
were  always  regular  in  this, — and  she  wore  her  quiet 
straw  bonnet.  Mrs.  Goldthwaite  had  a  feeling  that 
hats  were  rather  pert  and  coquettish  for  the  sanctuary. 
Nevertheless  they  met  the  Haddens  in  the  porch,  in 
the  glory  of  their  purple  pheasant  plumes,  whereof  the 
long  tail-feathers  made  great  circles  in  the  air  as  the 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     25 

young  heads  turned  this  way  and  that,  in  the  excite 
ment  of  a  few  snatched  words  before  they  entered. 

The  organ  was  playing ;  and  the  low,  deep,  trem 
ulous  rumble  that  an  organ  gives  sometimes,  when  it 
seems  to  creep  under  and  vibrate  all  things  with  a 
strange,  vital  thrill,  overswept  their  trivial  chat,  and 
made  Leslie  almost  shiver.  "  O,  I  wish  they  wouldn't 
do  that,"  she  said,  turning  to  go  in. 


"  "What?  "  said  Jeannie  Hadden,  unaware. 

' '  Touch  the  nerve.     The  great  nerve — of  creation. ' ' 

"What  queer  things  Les'  Goldthwaite  says  some 
times,"  whispered  Elinor;  and  they  passed  the  inner 
door. 

The  Goldthwaites  sat  two  pews  behind  the  Haddens. 
Leslie  could  not  help  thinking  how  elegant  Mrs.  Lince- 


26    A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

ford  was,  as  she  swept  in,  in  her  rich  black  silk,  and 
real  lace  shawl,  and  delicate,  costly  bonnet ;  and  the 
perfectly  gloved  hand  that  upheld  a  bit  of  extrava 
gance  in  Valenciennes  lace  and  cambric  made  devotion 
seem — what?  The  more  graceful  and  touching  in 
one  who  had  all  this  world's  luxuries,  or — almost  a 
mockery? 

The  pheasant-plumed  hats  went  decorously  down  in 
prayer-time,  but  the  tail-feathers  ran  up  perker  than 
ever,  from  the  posture ;  Leslie  saw  this,  because  she 
had  lifted  her  own  head  and  unclosed  her  eyes  in  a  self- 
indignant  honesty,  when  she  found  on  what  her  secret 
thoughts  were  running.  Were  other  people  so  much 
better  than  she?  And  could  they  do  both  things?  How 
much  was  right  in  all  this  that  was  outwardly  so  be 
guiling?  and  where  did  the  ' '  serving  Mammon  ' '  begin. 

Was  everything  so  much  intenser  and  more  absorb 
ing  with  her  than  with  the  Haddens?  Why  could  she 
not  take  things  as  they  came,  as  these  girls  did,  or 
seemed  to  do?  Be  glad  of  her  pretty  things, — her 
pretty  looks  even, — her  coming  pleasures, — with  no 
misgivings  or  self-searchings,  and  then  turn  round  and 
say  her  prayers  properly? 

Wasn't  beauty  put  into  the  world  for  the  sake  of 
beauty?  And  wasn't  it  right  to  love  it,  and  make 
much  of  it,  and  multiply  it  ?  What  were  arts  and 
human  ingenuities  for,  and  the  things  given  to  work 
with?  All  this  grave  weighing  of  a  great  moral  ques 
tion  was  in  the  mind  of  the  young  girl  of  fifteen  again 
this  Sunday  morning.  Such  doubts  and  balancings 
begin  far  earlier,  often,  than  we  are  apt  to  think. 

The  minister  shook  hands  cordially  and  respectfully 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     27 

with  Mrs.  Linceford  after  church.  He  had  no  hesita 
tion  at  her  stylishness  and  fineries.  Everybody  took 
everybody  else  for  granted ;  and  it  was  all  right,  Leslie 
Goldthwaite  supposed,  except  in  her  own  foolish,  un 
regulated  thoughts.  Everybody  else  had  done  their 
Sunday  duty,  and  it  was  enough ;  only  she  had  been 
all  wrong  and  astray,  and  in  confusion.  There  was  a 
time  for  everything,  only  her  times  and  thoughts  would 
mix  themselves  up  and  interfere.  Perhaps  she  was 
very  weak-minded,  and  the  only  way  for  her  would  be 
to  give  it  all  up,  and  wear  drab,  or  whatever  else 
might  be  most  unbecoming,  and  be  fiercely  severe, 
mortifying  the  flesh.  She  got  over  that — her  young 
nature  reacting — as  they  all  walked  up  the  street  to 
gether,  while  the  sun  shone  down  smilingly  upon  the 
world  in  Sunday  best,  and  the  flowers  were  gay  in  the 
door-yards,  and  Miss  Milliken's  shop  was  reverential 
with  the  green  shutters  before  the  windows  that  had 
been  gorgeous  yesterday  with  bright  ribbons  and  fresh 
fashions;  and  there  was  something  thankful  in  her 
feeling  of  the  pleasantness  that  was  about  her,  and  a 
certainty  that  she  should  only  grow  morose  if  she  took 
to  resisting  it  all.  She  would  be  as  good  as  she  could, 
and  let  the  pleasantness  and  the  prettiness  come  "  by 
the  way."  Yes,  that  was  just  what  Cousin  Delight 
had  said.  "All  these  things  shall  be  added," — was 
not  that  the  Gospel  word?  So  her  troubling  thought 
was  laid  for  the  hour ;  but  it  should  come  up  again. 
It  was  in  the  "seeking  first"  that  the  question  lay. 
By  and  by  she  would  go  back  of  the  other  to  this,  and 
see  clearer, — in  the  light,  perhaps,  of  something  that 
had  been  already  given  her,  and  which,  as  she  lived 


28     A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

on  toward  a  fuller  readiness  for  it,  should  be  ' '  brought 
to  her  remembrance, ' ' 

Monday  brought  the  perfection  of  a  traveler's  morn 
ing.  There  had  been  a  shower  during  the  night,  and 
the  highways  lay  cool,  moist,  and  dark-brown  between 
the  green  of  the  fields  and  the  clean-washed,  red-brick 
pavements  of  the  town.  There  would  be  no  dust  even 
on  the  railroad,  and  the  air  was  an  impalpable  draught 
of  delight.  To  the  three  young  girls,  standing  there 
under  the  station  portico, — for  they  chose  the  smell  of 
the  morning  rather  than  the  odors  of  apples  and  cakes 
and  indescribables  which  go  to  make  up  the  distinctive 
atmosphere  of  a  railway  waiting-room, — there  was  but 
one  thing  to  be  done  to-day  in  the  world ;  — one  thing 
for  which  the  sun  rose,  and  wheeled  himself  toward 
that  point  in  ttte  heavens  which  would  make  eight 
o'clock  down  below.  Of  all  the  ships  that  might  sail 
this  day  out  of  harbors,  or  the  trains  that  might  steam 
out  of  cities  across  states,  they  recked  nothing  but  of 
this  that  was  to  take  them  toward  the  hills.  There 
were  unfortunates,  doubtless,  bound  elsewhere,  by  per 
emptory  necessity ;  there  were  people  who  were  going 
nowhere,  but  about  their  daily  work  and  errands ;  all 
these  were  simply  to  be  pitied,  or  wondered  at,  as  to 
how  they  could  feel  not  to  be  going  upon  a  mountain 
journey.  It  is  queer  to  think,  on  a  last  Thursday  in 
November,  or  on  a  Fourth  of  July,  of  States  where 
there  may  not  be  a  Thanksgiving,  or  of  far-off  lands 
that  have  no  Independence  day.  It  was  just  as  strange, 
somehow,  to  imagine  how  this  day,  that  was  to  them 
the  culminating  point  of  so  much  happy  anticipation, 
the  beginning  of  so  much  certain  joy,  could  be  other- 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     29 

wise,  and  yet  be  anything  to  the  supernumerary  people 
who  filled  up  around  them  the  life  that  centered  in  just 
this  to  them.  Yet  in  truth  it  was,  to  most  folks,  sim 
ply  a  fair  Monday  morning,  and  an  excellent  "  drying 
day." 

They  bounded  off  along  the  iron  track, — the  great 
steam-pulse  throbbed  no  faster  than  in  time  to  their 
bright,  young  eagerness.  It  had  been  a  momentous 
matter  to  decide  upon  their  seats,  of  which  there  had 
been  opportunity  for  choice  when  they  entered  the  car; 
at  last  they  had  been  happily  settled,  face  to  face,  by 
the  good-natured  removal  of  a  couple  of  young  farmers, 
who  saw  that  the  four  ladies  wished  to  be  seated  to 
gether.  Their  hand-bags  were  hung  up,  their  rolls  of 
shawls  disposed  beneath  their  feet,  and  Mrs.  Lince- 
ford  had  taken  out  her  novel.  The  Haddens  had  each 
a  book  also  in  her  bag,  to  be  perfectly  according  to 
rule  in  their  equipment ;  but  they  were  not  old  travel 
ers  enough  to  care  to  begin  upon  them  yet.  As  to 
Leslie  Goldthwaite,  her  book  lay  ready  open  before 
her,  for  long,  contented  reading,  in  two  chapters,  both 
visible  at  once; — the  broad,  open  country,  with  its 
shifting  pictures  and  suggestions  of  life  and  pleasant 
ness;  and  the  carriage  interior,  with  its  dissimilar 
human  freight,  and  its  yet  more  varied  hints  of  history 
and  character  and  purpose. 

She  made  a  story  in  her  own  mind,  half  uncon- 
ciously,  of  every  one  about  her.  Of  the  pretty  girl 
alone,  with  no  elaborate  traveling  arrangements, 
going  only,  it  was  evident,  from  one  way-station  to 
another,  perhaps  to  spend  a  summer  day  with  a  friend. 
Of  the  stout  old  country  grandmamma,  with  a  basket 


3o     A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthvvaite's  Life, 

full  of  doughnuts  and  early  apples,  that  made  a  spici- 
ness  and  orchard  fragrance  all  about  her,  and  that  she 
surely  never  meant  to  eat  herself,  seeing,  first,  that 
she  had  not  a  tooth  in  her  head,  and  also  that  she 
made  repeated  anxious  requests  of  the  conductor,  catch 
ing  him  by  the  coat-skirts  as  he  passed,  to  "let  her 
know  in  season  when  they  began  to  get  into  Bartley ' ' ; 
who  asked,  confidentially,  of  her  next  neighbor,  a  well- 
dressed  elderly  gentleman,  if  "he  didn't  think  it  was 
about  as  cheap  comin'  by  the  cars  as  it  would  ha'  ben 
to  hire  a  passage  any  other  way?  "  and  innocently 
endured  the  smile  that  her  query  called  forth  on  half 
a  dozen  faces  about  her.  The  gentleman,  without  a 
smile,  courteously  lowered  his  newspaper  to  reply  that 
"he  always  thought  it  better  to  avail  one's  self  of 
established  conveniences  rather  than  to  waste  time  in 
independent  contrivances  ' ' ;  and  the  old  lady  sat  back, 
— as  far  back  as  she  dared,  considering  her  momentary 
apprehension  of  Bartley, — quite  happily  complacent 
in  the  confirmation  of  her  own  wisdom. 

There  was  a  trig,  not  to  say  prim,  spinster,  without 
a  vestige  of  comeliness  in  her  face,  save  the  comeliness 
of  a  clear,  clean,  energetic  expression, — such  as  a  new 
broom  or  a  bright  tea-kettle  might  have,  suggesting 
capacity  for  house-thrift  and  hearth-comfort, — who 
wore  a  gray  straw  bonnet,  clean  and  neat  as  if  it  had 
not  lasted  for  six  years  at  least,  which  its  fashion  evi 
denced,  and  which,  having  a  bright  green  tuft  of  arti 
ficial  grass  stuck  arbitrarily  upon  its  brim  by  way  of 
modern  adornment,  put  Leslie  mischievously  in  mind 
of  a  roof  so  old  that  blades  had  sprouted  in  the  eaves. 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     31 

She  was  glad  afterwards  that  she  had  not  spoken  her 
mischief. 

What  made  life  beautiful  to  all  these  people?  These 
farmers,  who  put  on  at  daybreak  their  coarse  home 
spun,  for  long  hours  of  rough  labor  ?  These  homely, 
homebred  women,  who  knew  nothing  of  graceful 
fashions, — who  had  always  too  much  to  do  to  think  of 
elegance  in  doing?  Perhaps  that  was  just  it;  they 
had  always  something  to  do,  something  outside  of  them-, 
selves ;  in  their  honest,  earnest  lives  there  was  little  to 
tempt  them  to  a  frivolous  self -engrossment.  Leslie 
touched  close  upon  the  very  help  and  solution  she 
wanted,  as  she  thought  these  thoughts. 


Opposite  to  her  there  sat  a  poor  man,  to  whom  there 
had  happened  a  great  misfortune.  One  eye  was  lost, 
and  the  cheek  was  drawn  and  marked  by  some  great 
scar  of  wound  or  burn.  One  half  his  face  was  a  fear 
ful  blot.  How  did  people  bear  such  things  as  these, — 
to  go  through  the  world  knowing  that  it  could  never 
be  pleasant  to  any  human  being  to  look  upon  them? 


32     A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

that  an  instinct  of  pity  and  courtesy  even  would  turn 
every  casual  glance  away?  There  was  a  strange,  sor 
rowful  pleading  in  the  one  expressive  side  of  the  man's 
countenance,  and  a  singularly  untoward  incident  pres 
ently  called  it  forth,  and  made  it  almost  ludicrously 
pitiful.  A  bustling  fellow  entered  at  a  way-station, 
his  arms  full  of  a  great  frame  that  he  carried.  As  he 
blundered  along  the  passage,  looking  for  a  seat,  a  jolt 
of  the  car,  in  starting,  pitched  him  suddenly  into  the 
vacant  place  beside  this  man ;  and  the  open  expanse 
of  the  large  looking-glass — for  it  was  that  which  the 
frame  held — was  fairly  smitten,  like  an  insult  of  fate, 
into  the  very  face  of  the  unfortunate. 

«*  Beg  pardon,"  the  new-comer  said,  in  an  off-hand 
way,  as  he  settled  himself,  holding  the  glass  full  before 
the  other  while  he  righted  it ;  and  then,  for  the  first 
time,  giving  a  quick  glance  toward  him.  The  as 
tonishment — the  intuitive  repulsion — the  consciousness 
of  what  he  had  done,  betokened  by  the  instant  look 
of  the  one  man,  and  the  helpless,  mute  "  How  could 
you?"  that  seemed  spoken  in  the  strange,  uprolled, 
one-sided  expression  of  the  other. — these  involuntarily- 
met  regards  made  a  brief  concurrence  at  once  sad  and 
irresistibly  funny,  as  so  many  things  in  this  strange 
life  are. 

The  man  of  the  mirror  inclined  his  burden  quietly 
the  other  way ;  and  now  it  reflected  the  bright  faces 
opposite,  under  the  pleasant  plumes.  "Was  it  any 
delight  to  Leslie  to  see  her  own  face  so?  What  was 
the  use  of  being — what  right  had  she  to  wish  to  be — 
pretty  and  pleasant  to  look  at,  when  there  were  such 
utter  lifelong  loss  and  disfigurement  in  the  world  for 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     33 

others?  Why  should  it  not  as  well  happen  to  her? 
And  how  did  the  world  seem  to  such  a  person,  and 
where  was  the  worthwhile  of  it?  This  was  the  ques 
tion  which  lingered  last  in  her  mind,  and  to  which  all 
else  reverted.  To  be  able  to  bear  /  perhaps  this  was  it ; 
and  this  was  greater,  indeed,  than  any  outer  grace. 

Such  as  these  were  the  wayside  meanings  that  came 
to  Leslie  Goldthwaite  that  morning  in  the  first  few 
hours  of  her  journey.  Meanwhile,  Jeannie  and  Elinor 
Hadden  had  begun  to  be  tired  ;  and  Mrs.  Linceford, 
not  much  entertained  with  her  novel,  held  it  half 
closed  over  her  finger,  drew  her  brown  veil  closely, 
and  sat  with  her  eyes  shut,  compensating  herself  with  a 
doze  for  her  early  rising.  Had  the  same  things  come 
to  these  ?  Not  precisely  ;  something  else,  perhaps. 
In  all  things,  one  is  still  taken  and  another  left.  I 
can  only  follow,  minutely,  one. 


34    A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 


m. 

THE  road  left  the  flat  farming  country  now,  and 
turned  northward,  up  the  beautiful  river  valley. 
There  was  plenty  to  enjoy  outside  ;  and  it  was  grow 
ing  more  and  more  lovely  with  almost  every  mile. 
They  left  the  great  towns  gradually  behind ;  each  suc 
ceeding  one  seemed  more  simply  rural.  Young  girls 
were  gathered  on  the  platforms  at  the  little  stations 
where  they  stopped  sometimes  ;  it  was  the  grand 
excitement  of  the  place, — the  coming  of  the  train, — 
and  to  these  village  lasses  was  what  the  piazza  or  the 
springs  are  to  gay  dwellers  at  Saratoga. 

By  dinner  time  they  steamed  up  to  the  stately  back 
staircase  of  the  "  Pemigewasset. "  In  the  little  parlor 
where  they  smoothed  their  hair  and  rested  a  moment 
before  going  to  the  dining-hall,  they  met  again  the  lady 
of  the  grass-grown  bonnet.  She  took  this  off,  making 
herself  comfortable,  in  her  primitive  fashion,  for  din 
ner  ;  and  then  Leslie  noticed  how  little  it  was  from 
any  poverty  of  nature  that  the  fair  and  abundant  hair, 
at  least,  had  not  been  made  use  of  to  take  down  the 
severe  primness  of  her  outward  style.  It  did  take  it 
down,  in  spite  of  all,  the  moment  the  gray  straw  was 
removed.  The  great  round  coil  behind  was  all  real, 
and  solid,  though  it  was  wound  about  with  no  thought 
save  of  security,  and  fastened  with  a  buffalo-horn 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     35 

comb.  Hair  was  a  matter  of  course ;  the  thing  was, 
to  keep  it  out  of  the  way ;  that  was  what  the  fashion 
of  this  head  expressed,  and  nothing  more.  Where  it 
was  tucked  over  the  small  ears, — and  native  refine 
ment  or  the  other  thing  shows  very  plainly  in  the  ears, 
— it  lay  full,  and  shaped  into  a  soft  curve.  She  was 
only  plain,  not  ugly,  after  all  ;  and  they  are  very  dif 
ferent  things, — there  being  a  beauty  of  plainness  in 
men  and  women,  as  there  is  in  a  rich  fabric,  some 
times. 

Elinor  Hadden  stood  by  a  window  with  her  back  to 
the  others,  while  Leslie  was  noticing  these  things. 
She  did  not  complain  at  first  ;  one  doesn't  like  to 
allow,  at  once,  that  the  toothache,  or  a  mischance  like 
this  that  had  happened  to  her,  is  an  established  fact, 
— one  is  in  for  it  the  moment  one  does  that.  But  she 
had  got  a  cinder  in  her  eye;  and  though  she  had 
winked,  and  stared,  and  rolled  her  eyelid  under,  and 
tried  all  the  approved  and  instinctive  means,  it  seemed 
persistent;  and  she  was  forced  at  last,  just  as  her 
party  was  going  in  to  dinner,  to  acknowledge  that  this 
traveler's  misery  had  befallen  her,  and  to  make  up  her 
mind  to  the  pain  and  wretchedness  and  ugliness  of  it 
for  hours,  if  not  even  for  days.  Her  face  was  quite 
disfigured  already;  the  afflicted  eye  was  bloodshot, 
and  the  whole  cheek  was  red  with  tears  and  rubbing ; 
she  could  only  follow  blindly  along,  her  handkerchief 
up,  and,  half  groping  into  the  seat  offered  her,  begin 
comfortlessly  to  help  herself  to  some  soup  with  her 
left  hand.  There  was  leaning  across  to  inquire  and 
pity ;  there  were  half  a  dozen  things  suggested,  to 
which  she  could  only  reply,  forlornly  and  impatiently, 


36     A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

"I've  tried  it. "  None  of  them  could  eat  much,  or 
with  any  satisfaction;  this  atom  in  the  wrong  place 
set  everything  wrong  all  at  once  with  four  people  who. 
till  now,  had  been  so  cheery. 

The  spinster  lady  was  seated  at  some  little  distance 
down,  on  the  opposite  side.  She  began  to  send  quick, 
interested  glances  over  at  them ;  to  make  little  half- 
starts  toward  them,  as  if  she  would  speak ;  and  at  last, 
leaving  her  own  dinner  unfinished,  she  suddenly  pushed 
back  her  chair,  got  up,  and  came  round.  She  touched 
Elinor  Hadden  on  the  shoulder,  without  the  least  ado 
of  ceremony.  "Come  out  here  with  me,"  she  said. 
"  I  can  set  you  right  in  half  a  minute  "  ; — and,  con 
fident  of  being  followed,  moved  off  briskly  out  of  the 
long  hall. 

Elinor  gave  a  one-sided,  questioning  glance  at  her 
sisters,  before  she  complied,  reminding  Leslie  comically 
of  the  poor,  one-eyed  man  in  the  cars ;  and  presently, 
with  a  little  hesitation,  Mrs.  Linceford  and  Jeannie 
compromised  the  matter  by  rising  themselves  and 
accompanying  Elinor  from  the  room.  Leslie,  of  course, 
went  also. 

The  lady  had  her  gray  bonnet  on  when  they  got 
back  to  the  little  parlor ;  there  is  no  time  to  lose  in 
mere  waiting  for  anything  at  a  railway  dining-place ; 
and  she  had  her  bag — a  veritable,  old-fashioned,  home 
made  carpet  thing — open  on  a  chair  before  her,  and  in 
her  hand  a  long,  knit  purse  with  steel  beads  and  rings. 
Out  of  this  she  took  a  twisted  bit  of  paper,  and  from 
the  paper  a  minute  something  which  she  popped  be 
tween  her  lips  as  she  replaced  the  other  things.  Then 
she  just  beckoned,  hastily,  to  Elinor. 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     37 

"  It's  only  an  eyestone;  did  you  ever  have  one  in? 
"Well,  you  needn't  be  afraid  of  it  ;  I've  had  'em  in 
hundreds  of  times.  You  wouldn't  know  'twas  there, 
and  it'll  just  ease  all  the  worry ;  and  by  and  by  it'll 
drop  out  of  itself,  cinder  and  all.  They're  terribly 
teasing  things,  cinders;  and  somebody's  always^  sure 
to  get  one.  I  always  keep  three  eyestones  in  my 
purse.  You  needn't  mind  my  not  having  it  back; 
I've  got  a  little  glass  bottle  full  at  home,  and  it's 
wonderful  the  sight  of  comfort  they've  been  to  folks." 

Elinor  shrunk ;  Mrs.  Linceford  showed  a  little  high- 
bread  demur  about  accepting  the  offered  aid  of  their 
unknown  traveling-companion;  but  the  good  woman 
comprehended  nothing  of  this,  and  went  on  insisting. 

"  You'd  better  let  me  put  it  in  right  off;  it's  only 
just  to  drop  it  under  the  eyelid,  and  it'll  work  round 
till  it  finds  the  speck.  But  you  can  take  it  and  put  it 
in  yourself,  when  you've  made  up  your  mind,  if  you'd 
rather."  With  which  she  darted  her  head  quickly 
from  side  to  side,  looking  about  the  room,  and,  spying 
a  scrap  of  paper  on  a  table,  had  the  eyestone  twisted 
in  it  in  an  instant,  and  pressed  it  into  Elinor's  hand. 
"You'll  be  glad  enough  of  it,  yet,"  said  she,  and 
then  took  up  her  bag,  and  moved  quickly  off  among 
the  other  passengers  descending  to  the  train. 

"  What  a  funny  woman,  to  be  always  carrying  eye- 
stones  about,  and  putting  them  in  people's  eyes!  " 
said  Jeannie. 

"  It  was  quite  kind  of  her,  I'm  sure,"  said  Mrs. 
Linceford,  with  a  mingling  in  her  tone  of  acknowledg 
ment  and  of  polite  tolerance  for  a  great  liberty. 
When  elegant  people  break  their  necks  or  their  limbs, 


38     A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

common  ones  may  approach  and  assist;  as,  when  a 
house  takes  fire,  persons  get  in  who  never  did  before ; 
and  perhaps  a  suffering  eye  may  come  into  the  catalogue 
of  misfortunes  sufficient  to  equalize  differences  for  the 
time  being.  But  it  is  queer  for  a  woman  to  make  free 
to  go  without  her  own  dinner  to  offer  help  to  a  stran 
ger  in  pain.  Not  many  people,  in  any  sense  of  the 
word,  go  about  provided  with  eyestones  against  the 
chance  cinders  that  may  worry  others.  Something  in 
this  touched  Leslie  Goldthwaite  with  a  curious  sense  of 
a  beauty  in  living  that  was  not  external. 

If  it  had  not  been  for  Elinor's  mishap  and  inability 
to  enjoy,  it  would  have  been  pure  delight  from  the 
very  beginning,  this  afternoon's  ride.  They  had  their 
seats  upon  the  ' '  mountain  side, ' '  where  the  view  of 
the  thronging  hills  was  like  an  ever-moving  panorama ; 
as,  winding  their  way  farther  and  farther  up  into  the 
heart  of  the  wild  and  beautiful  region,  the  horizon 
seemed  continually  to  fill  with  always  vaster  shapes, 
that  lifted  themselves,  or  emerged,  over  and  from 
behind  each  other,  like  mustering  clans  of  giants,  be 
stirred  and  curious,  because  of  the  invasion  among 
their  fastnesses  of  this  sprite  of  steam. 

' '  Where  you  can  come  down,  I  can  go  up, ' '  it 
seemed  to  fizz,  in  its  strong,  exulting  whisper,  to  the 
river ;  passing  it  always,  yet  never  getting  by ;  track 
ing,  step  by  step,  the  great  stream  backward  toward 
its  small  beginnings. 

"See,  there  are  real  blue  peaks  !  "  cried  Leslie, 
joyously,  pointing  away  to  the  north  and  east,  where 
the  outlines  lay  faint  and  lovely  in  the  far  distance. 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     39 

"  O,  I  wish  I  could  see!  I'm  losing  it  all!  "  said 
Elinor,  plaintively  and  blindfold. 

11  Why  don't  you  try  the  eyestone?  "  said  Jeannie. 

But  Elinor  shrunk,  even  yet,  from  deliberately 
putting  that  great  thing  in  her  eye,  agonized  already 
by  the  presence  of  a  mote. 

There  came  a  touch  on  her  shoulder,  as  before.  The 
good  woman  of  the  gray  bonnet  had  come  forward 
from  her  seat  farther  down  the  car. 

"I'm  going  to  stop  presently,"  she  said,  "  at  East 
Haverhill ;  and  I  should  feel  more  satisfied  in  my  mind 
if  you'd  just  let  me  see  you  easy  before  I  go.  Besides, 
if  you  don't  do  something  quick,  the  cinder  will  get  so 
bedded  in,  and  make  such  an  inflammation,  that  a  dozen 
eyestones  wouldn't  draw  it  out." 

At  this  terror,  poor  Elinor  yielded,  in  a  negative 
sort  of  way.  She  ceased  to  make  resistance  when  her 
unknown  friend,  taking  the  little  twist  of  paper  from 
the  hand  still  fast  closed  over  it  with  the  half-conscious 
grasp  of  pain,  dexterously  unrolled  it,  and  produced 
the  wonderful  chalky  morsel. 

"  Now,  '  let's  see,  says  the  blind  man  '  "  ;  and  she 
drew  down  hand  and  handkerchief  with  determined 
yet  gentle  touch.  "  Wet  it  in  your  own  mouth  "  ; — 
and  the  eyestone  was  between  Elinor's  lips  before  she 
could  refuse  or  be  aware.  Then  one  thumb  and  finger 
was  held  to  take  it  again,  while  the  other  made  a  sud 
den  pinch  at  the  lower  eyelid,  and,  drawing  it  at  the 
outer  corner  before  it  could  so  much  as  quiver  away 
again,  the  little  white  stone  was  slid  safely  under. 

"  Now  '  wink  as  much  as  you  please,'  as  the  man 
said  that  took  an  awful  looking  daguerreotype  of  me 


4O     A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

once.  Good-by.  Here's  where  I  get  out.  And  there 
they  all  are  to  meet  me. ' '  And  then,  the  cars  stopping, 
she  made  her  way,  with  her  carpet-bag  and  parasol  and 
a  great  newspaper  bundle,  gathered  up  hurriedly  from 
goodness  knows  where,  along  the  passage,  and  out 
upon  the  platform. 

"  Why,  it's  the  strangest  thing!  I  don't  feel  it  in 
the  least !  Do  you  suppose  it  ever  will  come  out  again, 
Augusta?"  cried  Elinor,  in  a  tone  greatly  altered 
from  any  in  which  she  had  spoken  for  two  hours. 

"Of  course  it  will,"  cried  "  Gray  -bonnet "  from 
beneath  the  window.  "  Don't  be  under  the  least  mite 
of  concern  about  anything  but  looking  out  for  it  when 
it  does,  to  keep  it  against  next  time." 

Leslie  saw  the  plain,  kindly  woman  surrounded  in 
a  minute  by  half  a  dozen  young  eager  welcomers  and 
claimants,  and  a  whole  history  came  out  in  the  unre 
served  exclamations  of  the  few  instants  for  which  the 
train  delayed. 

' '  O,  it's  such  a  blessing  you've  come !  I  don't  know 
as  Emma  Jane  would  have  been  married  at  all  if  you 
hadn't!" 

"  "We  warn't  sure  you'd  get  the  letter." 

"  Or  as  Aunt  'Msby  would  spare  you." 

u  'Life  wanted  to  come  over  on  his  crutches.  He's 
just  got  his  new  ones,  and  he  gets  about  first  rate. 
But  we  wouldn't  let  him  beat  himself  out  for  to 
morrow.  ' ' 

"How  is  'Life?  " 

' '  Hearty  as  would  any  way  be  consistent — with  one- 
leggedness.  He'd  never  'a  got  back,  we  all  know,  if 
you  hadn't  gone  after  him."  It  was  a  young  man's 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     41 

voice  that  spoke  these  last  sentences,  and  it  grew  tender 
at  the  end. 

"  You're  to  trim  the  cake,"  began  one  of  the  young 
girls  again,  crowding  up.  "  She  says  nobody  else  can. 
Nobody  else  ever  can.  And" — with  a  little  more 
mystery — "  there's  the  veil  to  fix.  She  says  you're 


used  to  wedd'n's  and  know  about  veils;  and  you  was 
down  to  Lawrence  at  Lorany's.  And  she  wants  things 
in  real  style.  She's  dreadfully  pudjicky,  Emma  Jane 
is ;  she  won't  have  anything  without  it's  exactly  right. ' ' 
The  plain  face  was  full  of  beaming  sympathy  and 
readiness;  the  stiff-looking  spinster- woman,  with  the 
"grass  in  the  eaves  of  her  bonnet," — grass  grown 


42     A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

also  over  many  an  old  hope  in  her  own  life,  may  be, 
— was  here  in  the  midst  of  young  joy  and  busy  interest, 
making  them  all  her  own;  had  come  on  purpose, 
looked  for  and  hailed  as  the  one  without  whom  noth 
ing  could  ever  be  done, — more  tenderly  yet,  as  one 
but  for  whom  some  brave  life  and  brother  love  would 
have  gone  down.  In  the  midst  of  it  all  she  had  had 
ear  and  answer,  to  the  very  last,  for  the  stranger  she 
had  comforted  on  her  way.  What  difference  did  it 
make  whether  she  wore  an  old  bonnet  with  green  grass 
in  it,  or  a  round  hat  with  a  gray  feather? — whether 
she  were  fifteen  or  forty-five,  but  for  the  good  she  had 
had  time  to  do? — whether  Lorany's  wedding  down  at 
Lawrence  had  been  really  a  stylish  festival  or  no? 
There  was  a  beauty  here  which  verily  shone  out  through 
all ;  and  such  a  life  should  have  no  time  to  be  tempted. 

The  engine  panted,  and  the  train  sped  on.  She 
never  met  her  fellow-traveller  again,  but  these  things 
Leslie  Goldthwaite  had  learned  from  her, — these  things 
she  laid  by  silently  in  her  heart.  And  the  woman  in 
the  gray  bonnet  never  knew  the  half  that  she  had  done. 

After  taking  one  through  wildernesses  of  beauty, 
after  whirling  one  past  nooks  where  one  could  gladly 
linger  whole  summers,  it  is  strange  at  what  common 
place  and  graceless  termini  these  railroads  contrive  to 
land  one.  Lovely  Wells  River,  where  the  road  makes 
its  sharp  angle,  and  runs  back  again  until  it  strikes 
out  eastward  through  the  valley  of  the  Ammonoosuc, 
— where  the  waters  leap  to  each  other,  and  the  hills 
bend  round  in  majestic  greeting, — where  our  young 
party  cried  out,  in  an  ignorance  at  once  blessed  and 
pathetic,  "  O,  if  Littleton  should  only  be  like  this,  or 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     43 

if  we  could  stop  here!  " — yet  where  one  cannot  stop, 
because  here  there  is  no  regular  stage  connection,  and 
nothing  else  to  be  found,  very  probably,  that  travel 
lers  might  want,  save  the  outdoor  glory, — Wells  River 
and  Woodville  were  left  behind,  lying  in  the  evening 
stillness  of  June, — in  the  grand  and  beautiful  disre 
gard  of  things  greater  than  the  world  is  rushing  by  to 
seek, — and  for  an  hour  more  they  threaded  through 
fair  valley  sweeps  and  reaches,  past  solitary  hillside 
clearings,  and  detached  farms,  and  the  most  primitive 
of  mountain  hamlets,  where  the  limit  and  sparseness 
of  neighborhood  drew  forth  from  a  gentleman  sitting 
behind  them — come,  doubtless,  from  some  suburban 
home,  where  numberless  household  wants  kept  horse 
and  wagon  perpetually  on  the  way  for  city  or  village 
— the  suggestive  query,  ' '  I  wonder  what  they  do  here 
when  they're  out  of  saleratus?  "  This  brought  them 
up,  as  against  a  dead  wall  of  dreariness  and  disap 
pointment,  at  the  Littleton  station.  It  had  been  man 
aged  as  it  always  is ;  the  train  had  turned  most  in 
geniously  into  a  corner  whence  there  was  scarcely  an 
outlook  upon  anything  of  all  the  magnificence  that 
must  yet  be  lying  close  about  them;  and  here  was 
only  a  tolerably  well -populated  country  town,  filled 
up  to  just  the  point  that  excludes  the  picturesque  and 
does  not  attain  to  the  highly  civilized.  And  into  the 
heart  of  this  they  were  to  be  borne,  and  to  be  shut  up 
there  this  summer  night,  with  the  full  moon  flooding 
mountain  and  river,  and  the  woods  whispering  up 
their  peace  to  heaven. 

It  was  bad  enough,  but  worse  came.    The  hotel  coach 
was  waiting,  and  they  hastened  to  secure  their  seats, 


44     A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

giving  their  checks  to  the  driver,  who  disappeared  with 
a  handful  of  these  and  others,  leaving  his  horses  with 
the  reins  tied  to  the  dash-board,  and  a  boy  ten  years 
old  upon  the  box. 

There  were  heads  out  anxiously  at  either  side,  be 
tween  concern  for  safety  of  body  and  of  property.  Mrs. 
Linceford  looked  uneasily  toward  the  confused  group 
upon  the  platform,  from  among  whom  luggage  began 
to  be  drawn  out  in  a  fashion  regardless  of  covers  and 
corners.  The  large  russet  trunk  with  the  black  H, — 
the  two  linen-cased  ones  with  "  Hadden  "  in  full, — the 
two  square  bonnet-boxes, — these,  one  by  one,  were 
dragged  and  whirled  tdward  the  vehicle  and  jerked 
upon  the  rack  ;  but  the  "  ark,"  as  they  called  Mrs. 
Linceford's  huge  light  French  box,  and  the  one  precious 
receptacle  that  held  all  Leslie's  pretty  outfit,  where  were 
these  ? 

"  Those  are  not  all,  driver  !  There  is  a  high  black 
French  trunk,  and  a  russet  leather  one." 

"  Got  all  you  give  me  checks  for, — seb'm  pieces  " ; 
and  he  pointed  to  two  strange  articles  of  luggage  wait 
ing  their  turn  to  be  lifted  up, — a  long,  old-fashioned 
gray  hair  trunk,  with  letters  in  brass  nails  upon  the  lid, 
and  as  antiquated  a  carpet-bag,  strapped  and  pad 
locked  across  the  mouth,  suggestive  in  size  and  fashion 
of  the  United  States  mail. 

"  Never  saw  them  before  in  my  life !  There's  some 
dreadful  mistake !  What  can  have  become  of  ours  ?  " 

"  Can't  say,  mia'am,  I'm  sure.  Don't  often  happen. 
But  them  was  your  checks." 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     45 

Mrs.  Linceford  leaned  back  for  an  instant  in  a 
breathless  despair.  "  I  must  get  out  and  see/' 

"If  you- please,  ma'am.  But 't  ain't  no  use.  The 
things  is  all  cleared  off."  Then,  stooping  to  examine  the 
trunk,  and  turning  over  the  bag,  "  Queer,  too.  These 
things  is  chalked  all  right  for  Littleton.  Must  ha'  been 
a  mistake  with  the  checks,  and  somebody  changed  their 
minds  on  the  way, — Plymouth  most  likely, — and 
stopped  with  the  wrong  baggage.  Wouldn't  worry, 
ma'am ;  it's  as  bad  for  one  as  for  t'  other,  anyhow,  and 
they'll  be  along  to-morrow,  no  kind  o'  doubt.  Strays 
allers  turns  up  on  this  here  road.  ~No  danger  about 
that.  I'll  see  to  havin'  these  'ere  stowed  away  in  the 
baggage-room."  And  shouldering  the  bag,  he  seized 
the  trunk  by  the  handle  and  hauled  it  along  over  the 
rough  embankment  and  up  the  steps,  flaying  one  side 
as  he  went. 

"  But,  dear  me !  what  am  I  to  do  ? "  said  Mrs. 
Linceford,  piteously.  "  Everything  in  it  that  I  want 
to-night, — my  dressing-box  and  my  wrappers  and  my 
air-cushion ;  they'll  be  sure  not  to  have  any  bolsters  on 
the  beds,  and  only  one  feather  in  each  corner  of  the 
pillows !  " 

But  this  was  only  the  first  surprise  of  annoyance. 
She  recollected  herself  on  the  instant,  and  leaned  back 
again,  saying  nothing  more.  She  had  no  idea  of  amus 
ing  her  unknown  stage-companions  at  any  length  with 
her  fine-lady  miseries.  Only,  just  before  they  reached 
the  hotel,  she  added  low  to  Jeannie,  out  of  the  unbroken 
train  of  her  own  private  lamentation,  "  And  my  rose- 


46     A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

glycerine !  After  all  this  dust  and  heat !  I  feel  parched 
to  a  mummy,  and  I  shall  be  an  object  to  behold !  " 

Leslie  sat  upon  her  right  hand.  She  leaned  closer, 
and  said  quickly,  glad  of  the  little  power  to  comfort, 
"  I  have  some  rose-glycerine  here  in  my  bag." 

Mrs.  Linceford  looked  round  at  her  ;  her  face  was 
really  bright  As  if  she  had  not  lost  her  one  trunk 
also !  "  You  are  a  phoenix  of  a  travelling-com 
panion,  you  young  thing !  "  the  lady  thought,  and  felt 
suddenly  ashamed  of  her  own  unwonted  discomfiture. 

Half  an  hour  afterward  Leslie  Goldthwaite  flitted 
across  the  passage  between  the  two  rooms  they  had 
secured  for  their  party,  with  a  bottle  in  her  hand  and  a 
pair  of  pillows  over  her  arm.  "  Ours  is  a  double- 
bedded  room,  too,  Mrs.  Linceford,  and  neither  Elinor 
nor  I  care  for  more  than  one  pillow.  And  here  is  the 
rose-glycerine." 

These  essential  comforts,  and  the  instinct  of  good- 
breeding,  brought  the  grace  and  the  smile  back  fully  to 
Mrs.  Linceford's  face.  More  than  that,  she  felt  a 
gratefulness,  and  the  contagion  and  emulation  of  cheer 
ful  patience  under  a  common  misfortune.  She  bent 
over  and  kissed  Leslie  as  she  took  the  bottle  from  her 
hand.  "  You're  a  dear  little  sunbeam,"  she  said. 
"  We'll  send  an  imperative  message  down  the  line,  and 
have  all  our  own  traps  again  to-morrow." 

The  collar  that  Elinor  Hadden  had  lent  Leslie  was 
not  very  becoming  ;  the  sleeves  had  enormous  wrist 
bands,  and  were  made  for  double  sleeve-buttons,  while 
her  own  were  single;  moreover,  the  brown  silk  net, 
which  she  had  supposed  thoroughly  trustworthy,  had 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     47 

given  way  all  at  once  into  a  great  hole  under  the  water 
fall,  and  the  soft  hair  would  fret  itself  through  and 
threaten  to  stray  untidily.  She  had  two  such  pretty 
nets  in  reserve  in  her  missing  trunk,  and  she  did  hate 
so  to  be  in  any  way  coming  to  pieces!  Yet  there  was 
somehow  a  feeling  that  repaid  it  all,  and  even  quieted 
the  real  anxiety  as  to  the  final  "  turning-up  "  of  their 
fugitive  property, — not  a  mere  self-complacence,  hardly 
a  self-complacence  at  all,  but  a  half-surprised  gladness, 
that  had  something  thankful  in  it.  If  she  might  not 
be  all  leaves,  perhaps,  after  all!  If  she  really  could, 
even  in  some  slight  thing,  care  most  for  the  life  and 
spirit  underneath,  to  keep  this  sweet  and  pleasant,  and 
the  fruit  of  it  a  daily  good,  and  not  a  bitterness, — if 
she  could  begin,  by  holding  herself  undisturbed,  though 
obliged  to  wear  a  collar  that  stood  up  behind  and  turned 
over  in  front  with  those  lappet  corners  she  had  always 
thought  so  ugly, — yes,  even  though  the  waterfall  should 
leak  out  and  ripple  over  stubbornly, — though  these 
things  must  go  on  for  twenty-four  hours  at  least,  and  these 
twenty-four  hours  be  spent  unwillingly  in  a  dull  country 
tavern,  where  the  windows  looked  out  from  one  side 
into  a  village  street,  and  from  the  other  into  stable 
and  clothes  yards!  There  would  be  something  for 
her  to  do, — to  keep  bright  and  help  to  keep  the  others 
bright.  There  was  a  hope  in  it;  the  life  was  more 
than  raiment;  it  was  better  worth  while  than  to  have 
only  got  on  the  nice  round  collar  and  dainty  cuffs  that 
fitted  and  suited  her,  or  even  the  little  bead  net  that 
came  over  in  a  Marie  Stuart  point  so  prettily  between 
the  small  crimped  puffs  of  her  hair. 


48     A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

A  little  matter,  nothing  to  be  self-applauding  about, 
— only  a  straw;  but — if  it  showed  the  possible  way  of 
the  wind,  the  motive  power  that  might  be  courted  to  set 
through  her  life,  taking  her  out  of  the  trade-currents 
of  vanity  ?  Might  she  have  it  in  her,  after  all  ?  Might 
she  even  be  able  to  come,  if  need  be,  to  the  strength  of 
mind  for  wearing  an  old  gray  straw  bonnet,  and  bear 
ing  to  be  forty  years  old,  and  helping  to  adorn  the 
young  and  beautiful  for  looks  that  never- — just  so — 
should  be  bent  again  on  her? 

Leslie  Goldthwaite  had  read  of  martyr  and  hero  suf 
ferance  all  her  life,  as  she  had  looked  upon  her  poor,  one- 
eyed  fellow-traveller  to-day ;  the  pang  of  sympathy  had 
always  been, — "  These  things  have  been  borne,  are  being 
borne,  in  the  world;  how  much  of  the  least  of  them 
could  I  endure, — I,  looking  for  even  the  little  things 
of  life  to  be  made  smooth  ?  "  It  depended,  she  began 
faintly  and  afar  off  to  see,  upon  where  the  true  life 
lay, — how  far  behind  the  mere  outer  covering  vitality 
withdrew  itself. 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     49 


IV. 


UP — up — up, — from   glory  to  glory! 

This  was  what  it  seemed  to  Leslie  Goldthwaite,  rid 
ing,  that  golden  June  morning,  over  the  road  that 
threaded  along,  always  climbing,  the  chain  of  hills  that 
could  be  climbed,  into  the  nearer  and  nearer  presence 
of  those  mountain  majesties,  penetrating  farther  and 
farther  into  the  grand  solitudes  sentinelled  forever  by 
their  inaccessible  pride. 

Mrs.  Linceford  had  grown  impatient;  she  had  de 
clared  it  impossible,  when  the  splendid  sunshine  of  that 
next  day  challenged  them  forth  out  of  their  dull  sojourn, 
to  remain  there  twenty-four  hours  longer,  waiting  for 
anything.  Trunks  or  none,  she  would  go  on,  and  wait 
at  Jefferson,  at  least,  where  there  was  something  to 
console  one.  All  possible  precaution  was  taken;  all 
possible  promises  were  made;  the  luggage  should  be  sent 
on  next  day, — perhaps  that  very  night;  wagons  were 
going  and  returning  often  now;  there  would  be  no 
further  trouble,  they  might  rest  assured.  The  hotel- 
keeper  had  a  "  capital  team," — his  very  best, — at  their 
instant  service,  if  they  chose  to  go  on  this  morning; 
it  could  be  at  the  door  in  twenty  minutes.  So  it  was 
chartered,  and  ordered  round, — an  open  mountain 
wagon,  with  four  horses;  their  remaining  luggage  was 


50    A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 
secured  upon  it,  and  they  themselves  took  their  seats, 

gayly. 

"  Who  cares  for  trunks  or  boxes  now  ?  "  Leslie  cried 
out  in  joyousness,  catching  the  first,  preparatory  glimpse 
of  grandeur,  when  their  road,  that  wound  for  a  time 
through  the  low,  wet  valley-lands,  began  to  ascend  a 
rugged  hillside,  whence  opened  vistas  that  hinted  some 
thing  of  the  glory  that  was  to  come.  All  the  morning 
long,  these  wheeled  about  them,  and  smiled  out  in 
the  sunshine,  or  changed  to  grave,  grand  reticence  under 
the  cloud-shadows,  those  shapes  of  might  and  beauty 
that  filled  up  earth  and  heaven. 

Leslie  grew  silent,  with  the  hours  of  over-full  delight. 
Thoughts  thronged  in  upon  her.  All  that  had  been 
deepest  and  strongest  in  the  little  of  life  that  she  had 
lived  wakened  and  lifted  again  in  such  transcendent 
presence.  Only  the  high  places  of  spirit  can  answer 
to  these  high  places  of  God  in  his  creation. 

Now  and  then,  Jeannie  and  Elinor  fell  into  their 
chatter,  about  their  summer  plans,  and  pleasures,  and 
dress;  about  New  York,  and  the  new  house  Mrs. 
Linceford  had  taken  in  West  Twenty-ninth  Street, 
where  they  were  to  visit  her  next  winter,  and  participate 
for  the  first  time,  under  her  matronizing,  in  city 
gayeties.  Leslie  wondered  how  they  could;  she  only 
answered  when  appealed  to;  she  felt  as  if  people  were 
jogging  her  elbow,  and  whispering  distractions,  in  the 
midst  of  some  noble  eloquence. 

The  woods  had  a  word  for  her;  a  question,  and  their 
own  sweet  answer  of  help.  The  fair  June  leafage 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     51 

was  out  in  its  young  glory  of  vivid  green;  it  reminded 
her  of  her  talk  with  Cousin  Delight. 

"  We  do  love  leaves  for  their  own  sake ;  trees,  and 
vines,  and  the  very  green  grass,  even."  So  she  said 
to  herself,  asking  still  for  the  perfect  parable  that  should 
solve  and  teach  all. 

It  came,  with  the  breath  of  wild  grape-vines,  hidden 
somewhere  in  the  wayside  thickets.  "  Under  the  leaf 
lies  our  tiny  green  blossom,"  it  said ;  "  and  its  perfume 
is  out  on  the  air.  Folded  in  the  grass-blade  is  a  feathery 
bloom,  of  seed  or  grain ;  and  by  and  by  the  fields  will  be 
all  waving  with  it.  Be  sure  that  the  blossom  is  under 
the  leaf." 

Elinor  Hadden's  sweet  child-face,  always  gentle  and 
good-humored,  though  visited  little  yet  with  the  deep 
touch  of  earnest  thought, — smiling  upon  life  as  life 
smiled  upon  her, —  looked  lovelier  to  Leslie  as  this 
whisper  made  itself  heard  in  her  heart ;  and  it  was  with 
a  sweeter  patience  and  a  more  believing  kindliness  that 
she  answered,  and  tried  to  enter  into,  her  next  merry 
words. 

There  was  something  different  about  Jeannie.  She 
was  older;  there  was  a  kind  of  hard  determination 
sometimes  with  her,  in  turning  from  suggestions  of 
graver  things;  the  child-unconsciousness  was  no  longer 
there;  something  restless,  now  and  then  defiant,  had 
taken  its  place;  she  had  caught  a  sound  of  the  deeper 
voices,  but  her  soul  would  not  yet  turn  to  listen.  She 
felt  the  blossom  of  life  yearning  under  the  leaf;  but 
she  bent  the  green  beauty  needfully  above  it,  and  made 
believe  it  was  not  there. 


52     A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

Looking  into  herself  and  about  her  with  asking  eyes, 
Leslie  had  learned  something  already  by  which  she  ap 
prehended  these  things  of  others.  Heretofore,  her  two 
friends  had  seemed  to  her  alike, — able,  both  of  them,  to 
take  life  innocently  and  carelessly  as  it  came ;  she  began 
now  to  feel  a  difference. 

Her  eyes  were  bent  away  off  toward  the  Franconia 
hills,  when  Mrs.  Linceford  leaned  round  to  look  in 
them,  and  spoke,  in  the  tone  her  voice  had  begun  to 
take  toward  her.  She  felt  one  of  her  strong  likings — 
her  immense  fancies,  as  she  called  them,  which  were 
really  warm  sympathies  of  the  best  of  her  with  the  best 
she  found  in  the  world — for  Leslie  Goldthwaite. 

"  It  seems  to  me  you  are  a  stray  sunbeam  this  morn 
ing,"  she  said,  in  her  winning  way.  "  What  kind  of 
thoughts  are  going  out  so  far  ?  What  is  it  all  about  ?  " 

A  verse  of  the  Psalms  was  ringing  itself  in  Leslie's 
mind ;  had  been  there,  under  all  the  other  vague  musings 
and  chance  suggestions  for  many  minutes  of  her  silence. 
But  she  would  not  have  spoken  it — she  could  not — for 
all  the  world.  She  gave  the  lady  one  of  the  chance 
suggestions  instead.  "  I  have  been  looking  down  into 
that  lovely  hollow;  it  seems  like  a  children's  party, 
with  all  the  grave  grown  folks  looking  on." 

"  Childhood  and  grown-up-hood ;  not  a  bad  simile." 

It  was  not  indeed.  It  was  a  wild  basin,  within  a 
group  of  the  lesser  hills  close  by;  full  of  little  feathery 
birches,  that  twinkled  and  played  in  the  light  breeze 
and  gorgeous  sunshine  slanting  in  upon  them  between 
the  slopes  that  lay  in  shadow  above, — slopes  clothed 
with  ranks  of  dark  pines  and  cedars  and  hemlocks,  look- 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     53 

ing  down  seriously,  yet  with  a  sort  of  protecting  tender 
ness,  upon  the  shimmer  and  frolic  they  seemed  to  have 
climbed  up  out  of.  Those  which  stood  in  the  half-way 
shadow  were  gravest.  Hoar  old  stems  upon  the  very 
tops  were  touched  with  the  selfsame  glory  that  lavished 
itself  below.  This  also  was  no  less  a  true  similitude. 

"  Know  ye  not  this  parable  ? "  the  Master  said. 
"  How  then  shall  ye  know  all  parables  ?  "  Verily,  they 
lie  about  us  by  the  wayside,  and  the  whole  earth  is 
vocal  with  the  wisdom  of  the  Lord. 

I  cannot  go  with  our  party  step  by  step;  I  have  a 
summer  to  spend  with  them.  They  came  to  Jefferson 
at  noon,  and  sat  themselves  down  in  the  solemn  high 
court  and  council  of  the  mountain  kings.  First,  they 
must  have  rooms.  In  the  very  face  of  majesty  they 
must  settle  their  traps. 

"  You  are  lucky  in  coming  in  for  one  vacancy,  made 
to-day,"  the  proprietor  said,  throwing  open  a  door  that 
showed  them  a  commodious  second-floor  corner-room, 
looking  each  way  with  broad  windows  upon  the  circle 
of  glory,  from  Adams  to  Lafayette.  A  wide  balcony 
•ran  along  the  southern  side  against  the  window  which 
gave  that  aspect.  There  were  two  beds  here,  and  two 
at  least  of  the  party  must  be  content  to  occupy.  Mrs. 
Linceford,  of  course;  and  it  was  settled  that  Jeannie 
should  share  it  with  her. 

Up  stairs,  again,  was  choice  of  two  rooms, — one 
flight  or  two.  But  the  first  looked  out  westward,  where 
was  comparatively  little  of  what  they  had  come  for. 
Higher  up,  they  could  have  the  same  outlook  that  the 
others  had;  a  slanting  ceiling  opened  with  dormer 


54    A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

window  full  upon  the  grandeur  of  Washington,  and  a 
second  faced  southward  to  where  beautiful  blue,  dreamy 
Lafayette  lay  soft  against  the  tender  heaven. 

"  O,  let  us  have  this !  "  said  Leslie,  eagerly.  "  We 
don't  mind  stairs."  And  so  it  was  settled. 

"  Only  two  days  here  ?  "  they  began  to  say,  when  they 
gathered  in  Mrs.  Linceford's  room  at  nearly  tea-time, 
after  a  rest  and  a  freshening  of  their  toilets. 

"  We  might  stay  longer,"  Mrs.  Linceford  answered. 
"  But  the  rooms  are  taken  for  us  at  Outledge,  and  one 
can't  settle  and  unpack,  when  it's  only  a  lingering  from 
day  to  day.  All  there  is  here  one  sees  from  the  win 
dows.  A  great  deal,  to  be  sure ;  but  it's  all  there  at  the 
first  glance.  We'll  see  how  we  feel  on  Friday." 

"  The  Thoresbys  are  here,  Augusta.  I  saw  Ginevra 
on  the  balcony  just  now.  They  seem  to  have  a  large 
party  with  them.  And  I'm  sure  I  heard  them  talk 
of  a  hop  to-night.  If  your  trunks  would  only  come !  " 

"  They  could  not  in  time.  They  can  only  come  in 
the  train  that  reaches  Littleton  at  six." 

"  But  you'll  go  in,  won't  you  ?  'Tisn't  likely  they 
dress  much  here, — though  Ginevra  Thoresby  always 
dresses.  Elinor  and  I  could  just  put  on  our  blue 
grenadines,  and  you've  got  plenty  of  things  in  your 
other  boxes.  One  of  your  shawls  is  all  you  want,  and 
we  can  lend  Leslie  something." 

"  I've  only  my  thick  travelling-boots,"  said  Leslie ; 
"  and  I  shouldn't  feel  fit  without  a  thorough  dressing. 
It  won't  matter  the  first  night,  will  it  ?  " 

"  Leslie  Goldthwaite,  you're  getting  slow !    Augusta !  " 

"  As  true  as  I  live,  there  is  old  Marmaduke  Wharae !  " 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     55 

"  Let  Augusta  alone  for  not  noticing  a  question  till 
she  chooses  to  answer  it,"  said  Jeannie  Hadden,  laugh 
ing.  "  And  who,  pray,  is  Marmaduke  Wharne  ?  With 
a  name  like  that,  if  you  didn't  say  '  old,'  I  should  make 
up  my  mind  to  a  real  hero,  right  out  of  a  book." 

"  He's  an  original.  And — yes — he  is  a  hero, — out 
of  a  book,  too,  in  his  way.  I  met  him  at  Catskill  last 
summer.  He  stayed  there  the  whole  season,  till  they 
shut  the  house  up  and  drove  him  down  the  mountain. 
Other  people  came  and  went,  took  a  look,  and  ran  away ; 
but  he  was  a  fixture.  He  says  he  always  does  so, — 
goes  off  somewhere  and  '  finds  an  Ararat,'  and  there 
drifts  up  and  sticks  fast.  In  the  winter  he's  in  New 
York ;  but  that's  a  needle  in  a  haystack.  I  never  heard 
of  him  till  I  found  him  at  Catskill.  He's  an  English 
man,  and  they  say  had  more  to  his  name  once.  It  was 
Wharne-cZt/fe,  or  Wharne-Zetgf&,  or  something,  and  there's 
a  baronetcy  in  the  family.  I  don't  doubt,  myself,  that 
it's  his,  and  that  a  part  of  his  oddity  has  been  to  drop  it. 
He  was  a  poor  preacher,  years  ago;  and  then,  of  a 
sudden,  he  went  out  to  England,  and  came  back  with 
plenty  of  money,  and  since  then  he's  been  an  apostle  and 
missionary  among  the  poor.  That's  his  winter  work; 
the  summers,  as  I  said,  he  spends  in  the  hills.  Most 
people  are  half  afraid  of  him;  for  he's  one  you'll  get 
the  blunt  truth  from,  if  you  never  got  it  before.  But 
come,  there's  the  gong, — ugh  !  how  they  batter  it ! —  and 
we  must  get  through  tea,  and  out  upon  the  balcony,  to 
see  the  sunset  and  the  '  purple  light.'  There's  no  time 
now,  girls,  for  blue  grenadines;  and  it's  always  vulgar 
to  come  out  in  a  hurry  with  dress  in  a  strange  place." 


56    A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's 

And  Mrs.  Linceford  gave  a  last  touch  to  her  hair, 
straightened  the  things  on  her  dressing-table,  shut  down 
the  lid  of  a  box,  and  led  the  way  from  the  room. 

Out  upon  the  balcony  they  watched  the  long,  golden 
going-down  of  the  sun,  and  the  creeping  shadows,  and 
the  purple  half-light,  and  the  after-smile  upon  the  crests. 
And  then  the  heaven  gathered  itself  in  its  night  stillness, 
and  the  mountains  were  grand  in  the  soft  gloom,  until 
the  full  moon  came  up  over  Washington. 

There  had  been  a  few  words  of  recognition  with  the 
Thoresby  party,  and  then  our  little  group  had  betaken 
itself  to  the  eastern  end  of  the  piazza.  After  a  while, 
one  by  one,  the  others  strayed  away,  and  they  were  left 
almost  alone.  There  was  a  gathering  and  a  sound  of 
voices  about  the  drawing-room,  and  presently  came  the 
tones  of  the  piano,  struck  merrily.  They  jarred,  some 
how,  too;  for  the  ringing,  thrilling  notes  of  a  horn, 
blown  below,  had  just  gone  down  the  diminishing  echoes 
from  cliff  to  cliff,  and  died  into  a  listening  silence, 
away  over,  one  could  not  tell  where  beyond  the  myster 
ious  ramparts. 

"  It's  getting  cold,"  said  Jeannie,  impatiently.  "  I 
think  we've  stayed  here  long  enough.  Augusta,  don't 
you  mean  to  get  a  proper  shawl,  and  put  some  sort  of 
lace  thing  on  your  head,  and  come  in  with  us  for  a  look, 
at  least,  at  the  hop  ?  Come,  Nell ;  come,  Leslie ;  you 
might  as  well  be  at  home  as  in  a  place  like  this,  if  you're 
only  going  to  mope." 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  Leslie,  more  to  herself  than 
to  Jeannie,  looking  over  upon  the  curves  and  ridges 
and  ravines  of  Mount  Washington,  showing  vast  and 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     57 

solemn  under  the  climbing  moon,  "  as  if  we  had  got  into 
a  cathedral !  " 

"  And  the  '  great  nerve  '  was  being  touched !  Well, 
— that  don't  make  me  shiver.  Besides,  I  didn't  come 
here  to  shiver.  I've  come  to  have  a  right  good  time ; 
aaid  to  look  at  the  mountains — as  much  as  is  reasonable." 

It  was  a  pretty  good  definition  of  what  Jeannie  Had- 
den  thought  she  had  come  into  the  world  for.  Ther« 
was  subtle  indication  in  it,  also,  that  the  shadow  of 
some  doubt  had  not  failed  to  touch  her  either,  and  that 
this  with  her  was  less  a  careless  instinct  than  a  resolved 
conclusion. 

Elinor,  in  her  happy  good-humor,  was  ready  for 
either  thing;  to  stay  in  the  night-splendor  longer,  or  to 
go  in.  It  ended  in  their  going  in.  Outside,  the  moon 
wheeled  on  in  her  long  southerly  circuit,  the  stars 
trembled  in  their  infinite  depths,  and  the  mountains 
abided  in  awful  might.  Within  was  a  piano-tinkle  of 
gay  music,  and  demi-toilette,  and  demi-festival, — the 
poor,  abridged  reproduction  of  city  revelry  in  the 
inadequate  parlor  of  an  unpretending  mountain-house, 
on  a  three-ply  carpet. 

Marmaduke  Wharne  came  and  looked  in  at  the  door 
way.  Mrs.  Linceford  rose  from  her  seat  upon  the  sofa 
close  by,  and  gave  him  courteous  greeting.  "  The  sea 
son  has  begun  early,  and  you  seem  likely  to  have  a 
pleasant  summer  here,"  she  said,  with  the  half- 
considered  meaning  of  a  common  fashion  of  speech. 

"  No,  madam !  "  answered  Marmaduke  Wharne,  out 
of  his  real  thought,  with  a  blunt  emphasis. 


58     A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

"  You  think  not  ? "  said  Mrs.  Linceford,  suavely,  in 
a  quiet  amusement.  "  It  looks  rather  like  it  to-night." 

"  This  ? — It's  no  use  for  people  to  bring  their  bodies 
to  the  mountains,  if  they  can't  bring  souls  in  them !  " 
And  Marmaduke  Wharne  turned  on  his  heel,  and,  with 
out  further  courtesy,  strode  away. 


"  What  an  old  Grimgriffinhoof ! "  cried  Jeannie, 
under  her  breath ;  and  Elinor  laughed  her  little  musical 
laugh  of  fun. 

Mrs.  Linceford  drew  up  her  shawl,  and  sat  down 
again,  the  remnant  of  a  well-bred  smile  upon  her  face. 
Leslie  Goldthwaite  rather  wished  old  Marmaduke 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     59 

Wharne  would  come  back  again  and  say  more.     But 
this  first  glimpse  of  him  was  all  they  got  to-night. 

"  Blown  crystal  clear  by  Freedom's  northern  wind." 

Leslie  said  the  last  line  of  Whittier's  glorious  moun 
tain  sonnet,  low,  to  herself,  standing  on  the  balcony 
again  that  next  morning,  in  the  cold,  clear  breeze ;  the 
magnificent  lines  of  the  great  earth-masses  rearing  them 
selves  before  her  sharply  against  a  cloudless  morning 
sky,  defining  and  revealing  themselves  anew. 

"  Freedom's  northern  wind  will  take  all  the  wave  out 
of  your  hair,  and  give  you  a  red  nose !  "  said  Jeannie, 
coming  round  from  her  room,  and  upon  Leslie  unaware. 

Well,  Jeannie  was  a  pretty  thing  to  look  at,  in  her 
delicate  blue  cambric  morning  dress,  gracefully  braided 
with  white,  with  the  fresh  rose  of  recent  sleep  in  her 
young  cheeks,  and  the  gladness  of  young  life  in  her 
dark  eyes.  One  might  look  away  from  the  mountains  to 
look  at  her;  for,  after  all,  the  human  beauty  is  the 
highest.  Only,  it  must  express  high  things,  or  at  last 
one  turns  aside. 

"  And  there  comes  Marmaduke ;  he's  worse  than  the 
north-wind.  I  can't  stay  to  be  '  blown  clear  '  by  him." 
And  Jeannie,  in  high,  merry  good-humor,  flitted  off. 
It  is  easy  to  be  merry  and  good-humored  when  one's 
new  dress  fits  exquisitely,  and  one's  hair  hasn't  been 
fractious  in  the  doing  up. 

Leslie  had  never,  apparently  to  herself,  cared  less, 
somehow,  for  self  and  little  vanities ;  it  seemed  as  if  it 
were  going  to  be  quite  easy  for  her,  now  and  henceforth, 


6o     A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

to  care  most  for  the  nobler  things  of  life.  The  great 
mountain-enthusiasm  had  seized  her  for  the  first  time, 
and  swept  away  before  it  all  meaner  thought;  and,  be 
sides,  her  trunk  had  been  left  behind,  and  she  had 
nothing  to  put  herself  into  but  her  plain  brown  travel- 
lingdress. 

She  let  the  wind  play  with  the  puffs  of  her  hair,  and 
send  some  little  light  locks  astray  about  her  forehead. 
She  wrapped  her  shawl  around  her,  and  went  and  sat 
where  she  had  sat  the  night  before,  at  the  eastern  end 
of  the  balcony,  her  face  toward  the  morning  hills,  as  it 
had  been  toward  the  evening  radiance  and  purple  shade. 
Marmaduke  Wharne  was  moving  up  and  down,  stopping 
a  little  short  of  her  when  he  turned,  keeping  his  own 
solitude  as  she  kept  hers.  Faces  and  figures  glanced 
out  at  the  hall-door  for  an  instant  each,  and  the  keen 
salute  of  the  north-wind  sent  them  invariably  in  again. 
Nobody  wanted  to  go  with  a  red  nose  or  tossed  hair  to 
the  breakfast-table;  and  breakfast  was  almost  ready. 
But  presently  Mrs.  Linceford  came,  and,  seeing  Mr. 
Wharne,  who  always  interested  and  amused  her,  she 
ventured  forth,  bidding  him  good  morning. 

"  Good  morning,  madam.  It  is  a  good  morning." 
"  A  little  sharp,  isn't  it  ? "  she  said,  shrugging  her 
shoulders  together,  irresolute  about  further  lingering. 
"  Ah,  Leslie  ?  Let  me  introduce  you  to  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Wharne.  My  young  friend  and  travelling  compan 
ion,  Miss  Leslie  Goldthwaite,  Mr.  Wharne.  Have  you 
two  driven  everybody  else  off,  or  is  it  the  nipping 
air?" 

"  I  think  it  is  either  that  they  have  not  said  their  pray- 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     61 

ers  this  morning,  or  that  they  don't  know  their  daily 
bread  when  they  see  it.  They  think  it  is  only  saleratus 
cakes  and  maple  molasses." 

"  As  cross  this  morning  as  last  night  ?  "  the  lady  ques 
tioned  playfully. 

"  !N"ot  cross  at  all,  Mrs.  Linceford.  Only  jarred  upon 
continually  by  these  people  we  have  here  just  now.  It 
was  different  two  years  ago.  But  Jefferson  is  getting 
to  be  too  well  known.  The  mountain  places  are  being 
spoiled,  one  after  another." 

"  People  will  come.     You  can't  help  that." 

"  Yes,  they  will  come,  and  frivol  about  the  gates, 
without  ever  once  entering  in.  '  Who  shall  ascend  into 
the  hill  of  the  Lord  ?  And  who  shall  stand  in  his  holy 
place?  He  that  hath  clean  hands  and  a  pure  heart; 
who  hath  not  lifted  up  his  soul  unto  vanity.' ' 

Leslie  Goldthwaite's  face  quickened  and  glowed ;  they 
were  the  psalm  lines  that  had  haunted  her  thought  yes 
terday,  among  the  opening  visions  of  the  hill-country. 
Marmaduke  Wharne  bent  his  keen  eyes  upon  her,  from 
under  their  gray  brows,  noting  her  narrowly.  She  wist 
not  that  she  was  noted,  or  that  her  face  shone. 

"  One  soul  here,  at  least !  "  was  what  the  stern  old 
man  said  to  himself  in  that  moment. 

He  was  cynical  and  intolerant  here  among  the  moun 
tains,  where  he  felt  the  holy  places  desecrated,  and  the 
gift  of  God  unheeded.  In  the  haunts  of  city  misery 
and  vice, — misery  and  vice  shut  in  upon  itself,  with  no 
broad  outlook  to  the  heavens, — he  was  tender,  with 
the  love  of  Christ  himself. 

"  l  My  house  shall  be  called  the  house  of  prayer ;  but 


62     A  Summer  in  Leslie  Cjoidthwaite's  Life. 

these  have  made  it  a  den  of  thieves.'  It  is  true  not  alone 
of  the  temples  built  with  hands." 

"  Is  that  fair  ?  How  do  you  ~know,  Mr.  Wharne  ?  " 
The  sudden,  impetuous  questions  come  from  Leslie 
Goldthwaite. 

"  I  see — what  I  see." 

"  The  whole  ?  "  said  Leslie,  more  restrainedly.  She 
remembered  her  respect  for  age  and  office.  Yet  she 
felt  sorely  tempted,  shy,  proud  girl  as  she  was,  to  take 
up  cudgels  for  her  friends,  at  least.  Mr.  Wharne  liked 
her  the  better  for  that. 

"  They  turn  away  from  this,  with  five  words, — the 
toll  of  custom, — or  half  a  look,  when  the  wind  is  north ; 
and  they  go  in  to  what  you  saw  last  night." 

"  After  all,  isn't  it  just  enjoyment,  either  way  ?  May 
n't  one  be  as  selfish  as  the  other  ?  People  were  kind, 
and  bright,  and  pleasant  with  each  other  last  night.  Is 
that  a  bad  thing  ?  " 

"  No,  little  girl,  it  is  not."  And  Marmaduke  Wharne 
came  nearer  to  Leslie,  and  looked  at  her  with  a  gentle 
look  that  was  wonderfully  beautiful  upon  his  stern  gray 
face.  "  Only,  I  would  have  a  kindness  that  should  go 
deep, — coming  from  a  depth.  There  are  two  things  for 
live  men  and  women  to  do.  To  receive,  from  God ;  and 
to  give  out,  to  their  fellows.  One  cannot  be  done  with 
out  the  other.  No  fruit,  without  the  drinking  of  the 
sunshine.  No  true  tasting  of  the  sunshine  that  is  not 
gathering  itself  toward  the  ripening  of  fruit." 

Here  it  was  again;  more  teaching  to  the  selfsame 
point, — as  we  always  do  get  it,  with  a  seeming  strange 
ness,  whether  it  be  for  mind  only,  or  for  soul.  You 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     63 

never  heard  of  a  new  name,  or  fact  in  history,  that  did 
not  come  out  again  presently  in  some  fresh  or  further 
mention  or  allusion.  It  is  the  tender  training  of  Him 
before  whom  our  life  is  of  so  great  value. 

At  this  moment,  the  gong  sounded  again;  saleratus 
cakes  and  maple  molasses  were  ready;  and  they  all 
went  in. 

Leslie  saw  Imogen  Thoresby  change  seats  with  her 
mother,  because  the  draft  from  the  door  was  less  in  her 
place ;  and  take  the  pale  top-«ake  from  the  plate,  leaving 
a  brown  one  for  the  mother.  Everybody  likes  brown 
cakes  best ;  and  it  was  very  unbecoming  to  sit  opposite  a 
great,  unshaded  window,  to  say  nothing  of  the  draft. 
Surely  a  little  blossom  peeped  out  here  from  under  the 
leaf.  Leslie  thought  Imogen  Thoresby  might  be  for 
given  for  having  done  her  curls  so  elaborately,  and  put 
on  such  an  elegant  wrapper;  even  for  having  ventured 
only  a  half-look  out  at  the  balcony  door,  when  she  found 
the  wind  was  north.  The  parable  was  already  teaching 
her  both  ways. 

I  do  not  mean  to  preach  upon  every  page.  I  have 
begun  by  trying  to  tell  you  how  a  great  influencing 
thought  was  given  into  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  life,  and 
began  to  unravel  for  her  perplexing  questions  that  had 
troubled  her, — questions  that  come,  I  think,  to  many  a 
young  girl  just  entering  upon  the  world,  as  they  came  to 
her; — how,  in  the  simple  history  of  her  summer  among 
the  mountains,  a  great  deal  solved  itself  and  grew  clear. 
I  would  like  to  succeed  in  making  you  divine  this,  as 
you  follow  out  the  simple  history  itself. 

"  Just   in   time ! "   cried   Jeannie   Hadden,   running 


64    A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

up  into  Leslie's  room  at  mid-afternoon  that  day. 
"  There's  a  stage  over  from  Littleton,  and  your  trunk 
is  being  brought  up  this  minute." 

"  And  the  hair-trunk  and  the  mail-bag  came  on,  too, 
after  all,  and  the  queerest  people  with  them !  "  added 
Elinor,  entering  behind  her. 

They  both  stood  back  and  were  silent,  as  a  man  came 
heavily  along  the  passage  with  the  trunk  upon  his 
shoulder.  He  set  it  down  and  unfastened  the  straps, 
and  in  a  minute  more  was  gone,  and  Leslie  had  the  lid 
open.  All  there,  just  as  it  had  been  in  her  own  room 
at  home  three  days  ago.  Her  face  brightened,  seeing 
her  little  treasures  again.  She  had  borne  it  well;  she 
had  been  able  to  enjoy  without  them ;  but  she  was  very 
glad  that  they  were  come. 

"  It's  nice  that  dinner  is  at  lunch-time  here,  and 
that  nobody  dresses  until  now.  Make  haste,  and  get  on 
something  pretty.  Augusta  won't  let  us  get  out 
organdies,  but  we're  determined  on  the  blue  grenadines. 
It's  awfully  hot, — hot  enough  for  anything.  Do  your 
hair  over  the  high  rats,  just  for  once." 

"  I  always  get  into  such  a  fuss  with  them,  and  I 
can't  bear  to  waste  the  time.  How  will  this  do  ?  " 
Leslie  unpinned  from  its  cambric  cover  a  gray  iron 
barege,  with  a  narrow  puffing  round  the  hem  of  the 
full  skirt  and  the  little  pointed  bertha  cape.  With 
it  lay  bright  cherry  ribbons  for  the  neck  and  hair. 

"  Lovely !  Make  haste  and  come  down  to  our  room." 
And  having  to  dress  herself,  Jeannie  ran  ofi  again,  and 
Elinor  shut  the  door. 

It  was  nice  to  have  on  everything  fresh ;  to  have  got 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     65 

her  feet  into  resetted  slippers  instead  of  heavy  balmoral 
boots;  to  feel  the  lightness  and  grace  of  her  own  move 
ment  as  she  went  downstairs  and  along  the  halls  in 
floating  folds  of  delicate  barege,  after  wearing  the  close, 
uncomfortable  travelling-dress,  with  the  sense  of  dust 
and  fatigue  that  clung  about  it;  to  have  a  little  flutter 
of  bright  ribbon  in  her  hair,  that  she  knew  was,  as 
Elinor  said  "  the  prettiest  part  of  her."  It  was  pleas 
ant  to  see  Mrs.  Linceford  look  pleased,  as  she  opened 
her  door  to  her,  and  to  have  her  say,  "  You  always  do 
get  on  exactly  the  right  thing !  "  There  was  a  fresh  feel 
ing  of  pleasure  even  in  looking  over  at  Washington, 
sunlighted  and  shadowed  in  his  miles  of  heights  and 
depths,  as  she  sat  by  the  cool  east  window,  feeling  quite 
her  dainty  self  again.  Dress  is  but  the  outside  thing, 
as  beauty  is  but  "  skin  deep  " ;  but  there  is  a  deal  of  in 
evitable  skin-sensation,  pleasurable  or  uncomfortable, 
and  Leslie  had  a  good  right  to  be  thoroughly  comfort 
able  now. 

The  blinds  to  the  balcony  window  were  closed;  that 
led  to  a  funny  little  episode  presently, — an  odd  com 
mentary  on  the  soul-and-body  question,  as  it  had  come 
up  to  them  in  graver  fashion. 

Outside,  to  two  chairs  just  under  the  window,  came 
a  couple  newly  arrived, — the  identical  proprietors  of  the 
exchanged  luggage.  It  was  an  elderly  countryman,  and 
his  home-bred,  matter-of-fact  wife.  They  too  had  had 
their  privations  and  anxieties,  and  the  outset  of  their 
evidently  unusual  travels  had  been  marred  in  its  pleas 
ure.  In  plain  truth,  the  good  woman  was  manifestly 
soured  by  her  experience. 


66     A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

Right  square  before  the  blinds  she  turned  her  back, 
unconscious  of  the  audience  within,  lifted  her  elbows, 
like  clothes-poles,  to  raise  her  draperies,  and  settled 
herself  with  a  dissatisfied  flounce,  that  expressed  before 
hand  what  she  was  about  to  put  in  words.  "  For  my 
part,"  she  announced,  deliberately,  "  I  think  the  White 
Mountains  is  a  clear — liummux!" 

"  Good  large  hummocks,  any  way,"  returned  her 
companion. 

"  You  know  what  I  mean.  'Tain't  worth  comin' 
for.  Losin'  baggage,  an'  everything.  We'd  enough 
sight  better  ha'  stayed  at  Plymouth.  An'  if  it  hadn't  a 
ben  for  your  dunderheadedness,  givin'  up  the  checks 
an'  never  stoppin'  to  see  what  was  comin'  of  'em,  trunks 
or  hencoops,  we  might.  There's  somethin'  to  see,  there. 
That  little  bridge  leadin'  over  to  the  swings  and  seats 
across  the  river  was  real  pretty  and  pleasant.  And  the 
cars  comin'  in  an'  startin'  off,  right  at  the  back  door, 
made  it  lively.  I  alwers  did  like  to  see  passin'." 

The  attitudes  inside  the  blinds  were  something,  at 
this  moment.  Mrs.  Linceford,  in  a  spasm  of  suppressed 
laughter  herself,  held  her  handkerchief  to  her  lips  with 
one  hand,  and  motioned  peremptory  silence  to  the  girls 
with  the  other.  Jeannie  was  noiselessly  clapping  her 
hands,  and  dancing  from  one  toe  to  the  other  with 
delight.  Leslie  and  Elinor  squeezed  each  other's  fingers 
lightly,  and  learned  forward  together,  their  faces  brim 
ming  over  with  fun;  and  the  former  whispered  with 
emphatic  pantomime  to  Mrs.  Lincaford,  " //  Mr. 
iWbarne  were  only  here !  " 

"  You've  been  worried,"  said  *lie  man.     "  And  you've 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     67 

ben  comin'  up  to  'em  gradooal.  You  don't  take  'em 
in.  If  one  of  these  'ere  hills  was  set  out  in  our  fields 
to  home,  you'd  think  it  was  something  more  than  a 
hummock,  I  guess." 

"  Well,  why  ain't  they,  then  ?  It's  the  best  way  to 
put  things  where  you  can  see  'em  to  an  advantage. 
They're  all  in  the  way  of  each  other  here,  and  don't 
show  for  nothing  to  speak  of.  Worried !  I  guess  I  hev 
ben!  I  shan't  git  over  it  till  I've  got  home  an'  ben 
settled  down  a  week.  It's  a  mercy  I've  ever  laid  eyes 
agin  on  that  bran-new  black  alpacky !  " 

"  Well,  p'r'aps  the  folks  felt  wuss  that  lost  them 
stylish-lookin'  trunks.  I'll  bet  they  had  something  more 
in  'em  than  black  alpackys." 

"  That  don't  comfort  me  none.  I've  had  my  tribu 
lation." 

"  Well,  come,  don't  be  grouty,  Hannah.  We've  got 
through  the  wust  of  it,  and  if  you  ain't  satisfied,  why, 
we'll  go  back  to  Plymouth  again.  I  can  stand  it  awhile, 
I  guess,  if  't  is  four  dollars  a  day." 

He  had  evidently  sat  still  a  good  while  for  him,  honest 
man;  and  he  got  up  with  this,  and  began  to  pace  up 
and  down,  looking  at  the  "  hummocks,"  which  signified 
greater  meanings  to  him  than  to  his  wife. 

Mrs.  Linceford  came  over  and  put  the  window  down. 
It  was  absolutely  necessary  to  laugh  now,  however 
much  of  further  entertainment  might  be  cut  off. 

Hannah  jumped  up,  electrified,  as  the  sash  went 
down  behind  her. 

"  John !  John !  There's  folks  in  there !  " 

"  S'pose  likely,"  said  John,  with  quiet  relish  of 
amends.  "  What's  good  for  me  'ill  do  for  them  !  " 


68    A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life* 


V. 


"  GRIMGRIFFIETHOOF  won't  speak  to  you  to-night," 
said  Jeannie  Hadden,  after  tea,  upon  the  balcony. 

She  was  mistaken.  There  was  something  different, 
still,  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  look,  as  she  came  out 
under  the  sunset-light,  from  the  looks  that  prevailed  in 
the  Thoresby  group  when  they  too  made  their  appear 
ance.  The  one  moved  self-forgetfully, — her  conscious 
ness  and  thought  sent  forth,  not  fluttering  in  her  robes 
and  ribbons;  with  the  others  there  was  a  little  air  and 
bustle,  as  of  people  coming  into  an  opera-box  in  presence 
of  a  full  house.  They  said  "  Lovely !  "  and  "  Splen 
did  !  "  of  course, — their  little  word  of  applause  for  the 
scenic  grandeur  of  mountain  and  heaven,  and  then  the 
half  of  them  turned  their  backs  upon  it,  and  commenced 
talking  together  about  whether  waterfalls  were  really 
to  be  given  up  or  not,  and  of  how  people  were  going  to 
look  in  high-crowned  bonnets. 

Mrs.  Linceford  told  the  "  hummux  "  story  to  Marma- 
duke  Wharne.  The  old  man  laughed  till  the  Thoresby 
party  turned  to  see. 

"  But  I  like  one  thing,"  he  said.  "  The  woman  was 
honest.  Her  '  black  alpacky '  was  most  to  her,  and  she 
owned  up  to  it." 

The  regular  thing  being  done,  outside,  the  company; 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     69 

drifted  back,  as  the  shadows  fell,  to  the  parlor  again. 
Mrs.  Linceford's  party  moved  also,  and  drifted  with  the 
rest.  Marmaduke  Wharne,  quite  graciously,  walked 
after.  The  Lancers  was  just  forming. 

"  The  bear  is  playing  tame  and  amiable/'  whispered 
Jeannie.  "  But  he'll  eat  you  up  for  all  that.  I 
wouldn't  trust  him.  He's  going  to  watch,  to  see  how 
wicked  you'll  be." 

"  I  shall  let  him  see,"  replied  Leslie,  quietly. 

"  Miss  Goldthwaite,  you're  for  the  dance  to-night  ? 
For  the  *  bright  and  kind  and  pleasant,'  eh  ? "  the 
"  bear  "  said,  coming  to  her  side  within  the  room. 

"  If  anybody  asks  me,"  answered  Leslie,  with  brave 
simplicity.  "  I  like  dancing — very  much." 

"  I'll  find  you  a  partner,  then,"  said  Mr.  Wharne. 

She  looked  up,  surprised ;  but  he  was  quite  in  earnest. 
He  walked  across  the  room,  and  brought  back  with  him 
a  lad  of  thirteen  or  so, — well  grown  for  his  age,  and 
bright  and  manly-looking;  but  only  a  boy,  and  a  little 
shy  and  stiff  at  first,  as  boys  have  to  be  for  awhile. 
Leslie  had  seen  him  before,  in  the  afternoon,  rolling  the 
balls  through  a  solitary  game  of  croquet;  and,  after 
ward,  taking  his  tea  by  himself  at  the  lower  end  of 
the  table.  He  had  seemed  to  belong  to  nobody,  and  as 
yet  hardly  to  have  got  the  "  run  "  of  the  place. 

"  This  is  Master  Thayne,  Miss  Leslie  Goldthwaite, 
and  I  think  he  would  like  to  dance,  if  you  please." 

Master  Thayne  made  a  proper  bow,  and  glanced  up  at 
the  young  girl  with  a  smile  lurking  behind  the  diffidence 
in  his  face.  Leslie  smiled  outright,  and  held  out  her 
hand. 


70     A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

It  was  not  a  brilliant  debut,  perhaps.  The  Haddens 
had  been  appropriated  by  a  couple  of  youths  in  frock- 
coats  and  orthodox  kids,  with  a  suspicion  of  mous 
taches;  and  one  of  the  Thoresbys  had  a  young  captain 
of  cavalry,  with  gold  bars  on  his  shoulders.  Elinor 
Hadden  raised  her  pretty  eyebrows,  and  put  as  much 
of  a  mock-miserable  look  into  her  happy  little  face  as  it 
could  hold,  when  she  found  her  friend,  so  paired,  at 
her  right  hand. 

"  It's  very  good  of  you  to  stand  up  with  me,"  said 
the  boy,  simply.  "  It's  awful  slow,  not  knowing  any 
body." 

"  Are  you  here  alone  ?  "  asked  Leslie. 

"  Yes  ;  there  was  nobody  to  come  with  me.  Oliver 
— my  brother — will  come  by  and  by,  and  perhaps  my 
uncle  and  the  rest  of  them,  to  meet  me  where  I'm  to  be, 
down  among  the  mountains.  We're  all  broken  up  this 
summer,  and  I'm  to  take  care  of  myself." 

"  Then  you  don't  stay  here  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  only  came  this  way  to  see  what  it  was  like. 
I've  got  a  jolly  place  engaged  for  me,  at  Outledge." 

"  Outledge  ?     Why,  we  are  going  there !  " 

"Are  you?  That's — jolly!"  repeated  the  boy, 
pausing  a  second  for  a  fresher  or  politer  word,  but  un 
able  to  supply  a  synonyme. 

"  I'm  glad  you  think  so,"  answered  Leslie,  with  her 
genuine  smile  again. 

The  two  had  already  made  up  their  minds  to  be 
friends.  In  fact,  Master  Thayne  would  hardly  have 
acquiesced  in  being  led  up  for  introduction  to  any 
other  young  girl  in  the  room.  There  had  been  some- 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     71 

thing  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  face  that  had  looked 
kind  and  sisterly  to  him  He  had  no  fear  of  a  snub  with 
her;  and  these  things  Mr.  Wharne  had  read,  in  his 
behalf,  as  well. 

"  He's  a  queer  old  fellow,  that  Mr.  Wharne,  isn't 
he  ? "  pursued  Master  Thayne,  after  forward  and 
back,  as  he  turned  his  partner  to  place.  But  he's 
the  only  one  that's  had  anything  to  say  to  me,  and  I 
like  him.  I've  been  down  to  the  old  mill  with  him 
to-day.  Those  people  " — motioning  slightly  toward  the 
other  set,  where  the  Thoresbys  were  dancing — "  were 
down  there  too.  You'd  ought  to  have  seen  them  look ! 
Don't  they  hate  him,  though  ? " 

"  Hate  him  ?     Why  should  they  do  that  ?  " 

"  O,  I  don't  know.  People  feel  each  other  out,  I  sup 
pose.  And  a  word  of  his  is  as  much  as  a  whole  preach 
of  anybody's  else.  ,He  says  a  word  now  and  then,  and 
it  hits." 

"  Yes,"  responded  Leslie,  laughing. 

"  What  did  you  do  it  for  ?  "  whispered  Elinor,  in 
hands  across. 

"  I  like  him ;  he's  got  something  to  say,"  returned 
Leslie. 

"  Augusta's  looking  at  you,  like  a  hen  after  a  stray 
chicken.  She's  all  but  clucking  now." 

"  Mr.  Wharne  will  tell  her." 

But  Mr.  Wharne  was  not  in  the  room.  He  came 
back  just  as  Leslie  was  making  her  way  again,  after 
the  dance,  to  Mrs.  Linceford. 

"  Will  you  'do  a  galop  with  me  presently  ? — if  you 
don't  get  a  better  partner,  I  mean,"  said  Master  Thayne. 


72     A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

"  That  wouldn't  be  much  of  a  promise,"  answered 
Leslie,  smiling.  "  I  will,  at  any  rate ;  that  is,  if — after 
I've  spoken  to  Mrs.  Linceford." 

Mr.  Wharne  came  up  and  said  something  to  young 
Thayne,  just  then;  and  the  latter  turned  eagerly  to 
Leslie.  "  The  telescope's  fixed,  out  on  the  balcony ; 
and  you  can  see  Jupiter  and  three  of  his  moons  \  We 
must  make  haste,  before  our  moon's  up." 

"  Will  you  go  and  look,  Mrs.  Linceford  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Wharne  of  the  lady,  as  Leslie  reached  her  side. 

They  went  with  him,  and  Master  Thayne  followed. 
Jeannie  and  Elinor  and  the  Miss  Thoresbys  were  doing 
the  inevitable  promenade  after  the  dance, — under  diffi 
culties. 

"  Who  is  your  young  friend  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Lince 
ford,  with  a  shade  of  doubt  in  her  whisper,  as  they 
came  out  on  the  balcony. 

"  Master — "  Leslie  began  to  introduce,  but  stopped. 
The  name,  which  she  had  not  been  quite  certain  of, 
escaped  her. 

"  My  name  is  Dakie  Thayne,"  said  the  boy,  with  a 
bow  to  the  matron. 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Linceford,  if  you'll  just  sit  here,"  said 
Mr.  Wharne,  placing  a  chair.  "  I  suppose  I  ought  to 
have  come  to  you  first ;  but  it's  all  right,"  he  added,  in 
a  low  tone,  over  her  shoulder.  "  He's  a  nice  boy." 

And  Mrs.  Linceford  put  her  eye  to  the  telescope. 
"  Dakie  Thayne !  It's  a  queer  name ;  and  yet  it  seems 
as  if  I  had  heard  it  before,"  she  said,  looking  away 
through  the  mystic  tube  into  space,  and  seeing  Jupiter 
with  his  moons,  in  a  fair  round  picture  framed  ex- 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     73 

pressly  to  her  eye;  yet  sending  a  thought,  at  the  same 
time,  up  and  down  the  lists  of  a  mental  directory,  try 
ing  to  place  Dakie  Thayne  among  people  she  had  heard 
of. 

"  I'll  be  responsible  for  the  name,"  answered  Manna- 
duke  Wharne. 

"  '  Dakie'  is  a  nickname,  of  course ;  but  they  always 
call  me  so,  and  I  like  it  best,"  the  boy  was  explaining 
to  Leslie,  while  they  waited  in  the  doorway. 

Then  her  turn  came.  Leslie  had  never  looked 
through  a  telescope  upon  the  stars  before.  She  forgot 
the  galop,  and  the  piano  tinkled  out  its  gayest  notes  un 
heard.  "  It  seems  like  coming  all  the  way  back,"  she 
said,  when  she  moved  away  for  Dakie  Thayne. 

Then  they  wheeled  the  telescope  upon  its  pivot  east 
ward,  and  met  our  own  moon  coming  up,  as  if  in  a 
grand  jealousy,  to  assert  herself  within  her  small 
domain,  and  put  out  faint,  far  satellites  of  lordlier 
planets.  They  looked  upon  her  mystic,  glistening  hill 
tops,  and  down  her  awful  craters ;  and  from  these  they 
seemed  to  drop  a  little,  as  a  bird  might,  and  alight  on 
the  earth-mountains,  looming  close  at  hand,  with  their 
huge,  rough  crests  and  sides,  and  sheer  escarpments 
white  with  nakedness ;  and  so — got  home  again.  Leslie, 
with  her  maps  and  gazetteer,  had  done  no  travelling 
like  this. 

She  would  not  have  cared,  if  she  had  known,  that 
Imogen  Thoresby  was  looking  for  her,  within,  to  pre 
sent,  at  his  own  request,  the  cavalry  captain.  She  did 
not  know  in  the  least,  absorbed  in  her  pure  enjoyment, 
that  Marmaduke  Wharne  was  deliberately  trying  her, 


74    A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

and  confirming  his  estimate  of  her,  in  these  very 
things. 

She  danced  her  galop  with  Dakie  Thayne,  after  she 
went  back.  The  cavalry  captain  was  introduced,  and 
asked  for  it.  "  That  was  something,"  as  Hans 
Andersen  would  say ;  but  "  What  a  goose  not  to  have 
managed  better !  "  was  what  Imogen  Thoresby  thought 
concerning  it,  as  the  gold  bars  turned  themselves  away. 

Leslie  Goldthwaite  had  taken  what  came  to  her,  and 
she  had  had  an  innocent,  merry  time;  she  had  been 
glad  to  be  dressed  nicely,  and  to  look  her  best; — but 
somehow  she  had  not  thought  of  that  much,  after  all; 
the  old  uncomfortableness  had  not  troubled  her  to-night. 

"Just  to  be  in  better  business.  That's  the  whole  of 
it,"  she  thought  to  herself,  with  her  head  upon  the 
pillow.  She  put  it  in  words,  mentally,  in  the  same 
off-hand  fashion  in  which  she  would  have  spoken  it  to 
Cousin  Delight.  "  One  must  look  out  for  that-,  and 
keep  at  it.  That's  the  eyestone-woman's  way;  and  it's 
what  has  kept  me  from  worrying  and  despising  myself 
to-night.  It  only  happened  so,  this  time;  it  was  Mr. 
Wharne, — not  I.  But  I  suppose  one  can  always  find 
something,  by  trying.  And  the  trying — "  The  rest 
wandered  off  into  a  happy  musing;  and  the  musing 
merged  into  a  dream. 

Object  and  motive, — the  "  seeking  first " ;  she  had 
touched  upon  that,  at  last,  with  a  little  comprehension 
of  its  working. 

She  liked  Dakie  Thayne.  The  next  day  they  saw  a 
good  deal  of  him ;  he  joined  himself  gradually,  but  not 
obtrusively,  to  their  party;  they  included  him  in  their 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     75 

morning  game  of  croquet.  This  was  at  her  instance  \ 
he  was  standing  aside,  not  expecting  to  be  counted  in, 
though  he  had  broken  off  his  game  of  solitaire,  and 
driven  the  balls  up  to  the  starting-stake,  as  they  came 
out  upon  the  ground.  The  Thoresbj  set  had  ignored 
him,  always,  being  too  many  already  among  themselves, 
— and  he  was  only  a  boy. 


This  morning  there  were  only  Imogen,  and  Etty,  the 
youngest ;  a  walking-party  had  gone  off  up  the  Cherry- 
Mountain  road,  and  Ginevra  was  upstairs,  packing;  for 
the  Thoresbys  had  also  suddenly  decided  to  leave  for 
Outledge  on  the  morrow.  Mrs.  Thoresby  declared,  in 
confidence,  to  Mrs.  Linceford,  that  "  old  Wharae  would 


76    A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

make  any  house  intolerable;  and  that  Jefferson,  at  any 
rate,  was  no  place  for  more  than  a  week's  stay."  She 
"  wouldn't  have  it  mentioned  in  the  house,  however, 
that  she  was  going,  till  the  time  came, — it  made  such 
an  ado ;  and  everybody's  plans  were  at  loose  ends  among 
the  mountains,  ready  to  fix  themselves  to  anything  at  a 
day's  notice;  they  might  have  to-morrow's  stage  loaded 
to  crushing,  if  they  did  not  take  care." 

"  But  I  thought  Mrs.  Devreaux  and  the  Klines  were 
with  you,"  remarked  Mrs.  Linceford. 

"  Of  our  party  ?  O,  no  indeed ;  we  only  fell  in  with 
them  here." 

"  Fell  in  "  with  them ;  became  inseparable  for  a  week ; 
and  now  were  stealing  a  march, — dodging  them, — lest 
there  might  be  an  overcrowding  of  the  stage,  and  an 
impossibility  of  getting  outside  seats!  Mrs.  Thoresby 
was  a  woman  of  an  imposing  elegance  and  dignity,  with 
her  large  curls  of  resplendent  gray  hair,  high  up  on  her 
temples,  her  severely-handsome  dark  eyebrows,  and  her 
own  perfect,  white  teeth;  yet  she  could  do  a  shabby 
thing,  you  see, — a  thing  made  shabby  by  its  motive. 
The  Devreaux  and  Klines  were  only  "  floating  people," 
boarding  about, — not  permanently  valuable  as  acquain 
tances  ;  well  enough  to  know  when  one  met  them, — that 
was  all.  Mrs.  Thoresby  had  daughters;  she  was  obliged 
to  calculate  as  to  what  was  worth  while.  Mrs.  Lince 
ford  had  an  elegant  establishment  in  New  York;  she 
had  young  sisters  to  bring  out;  there  was  suitability 
here;  and  the  girls  would  naturally  find  themselves 
happy  together. 

Dakie  Thayne  developed  brilliantly  at  croquet.     He 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     77 

and  Leslie,  with  Etty  Thoresby,  against  Imogen  and  the 
Haddens,  swept  triumphantly  around  the  course,  and 
came  in  to  the  stake,  before  there  had  been  even  a 
"  rover  "  upon  the  other  side.  Except,  indeed,  as  they 
were  sent  roving,  away  off  over  the  bank  and  down  the 
road,  from  the  sloping,  uneven  ground, — the  most 
extraordinary  field,  in  truth,  on  which  croquet  was 
ever  attempted.  But  then  you  cannot  expect  a  level, 
velvet  lawn  on  the  side  of  a  mountain. 

"  Children  always  get  the  best  of  it  at  croquet, — when 
they  know  anything  at  all,"  said  Imogen  Thoresby, 
discontentedly,  throwing  down  her  mallet.  "  You 
'  poked  '  awfully,  Etty." 

Etty  began  an  indignant  denial;  unable  to  endure 
the  double  accusation  of  being  a  child, — she,  a  girl  in 
her  fourteenth  year, — and  of  "  poking."  But  Imogen 
walked  away  quite  unconcernedly,  and  Jeannie  Hadden 
followed  her.  These  two,  as  nearest  in  age,  were  grow 
ing  intimate.  Ginevra  was  almost  too  old, — she  was 
twenty. 

They  played  a  four-ball  game  then ;  Leslie  and  Etty 
against  Elinor  and  Dakie  Thayne.  But  Elinor  declared 
— laughing,  all  the  same,  in  her  imperturbably  good- 
natured  way — that  not  only  Etty's  pokes  were  against 
her,  but  that  Dakie  would  not  croquet  Leslie's  ball  down 
hill.  Nothing  ever  really  put  Elinor  Hadden  out,  the 
girls  said  of  her,  except  when  her  hair  wouldn't  go  up ; 
and  then  it  was  funny  to  see  her.  It  was  a  sunbeam  in 
a  snarl,  or  a  snow-flurry  out  of  a  blue  sky.  This  in 
parenthesis,  however;  it  was  quite  true,  as  she  alleged, 
that  Dakie  Thayne  had  taken  up  already  that  chivalrous 


78     A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

attitude  toward  Leslie  Goldthwaite  which  would  not  let 
him  act  otherwise  than  as  her  loyal  knight,  even  though 
opposed  to  her  at  croquet. 

"  You'll  have  enough  of  that  boy,"  said  Mrs.  Lince- 
ford,  when  Leslie  came  in  and  found  her  at  her  window 
that  overlooked  the  wickets.  "  There's  nothing  like 
a  masculine  creature  of  that  age  for  adoring  and 
monopolizing  a  girl  two  or  three  years  older.  He'll 
make  you  mend  his  gloves,  and  he'll  beg  your  hair- 
ribbons  for  hat-strings;  and  when  you're  not  dancing 
or  playing  croquet  with  him,  he'll  be  after  you  with 
some  boy-hobby  or  other,  wanting  you  to  sympathize  and 
help.  1 1  know  their  tricks  and  their  manners.' '  But 
she  looked  amused  and  kind  while  she  threatened,  and 
Leslie  only  smiled  back  and  said  nothing. 

Presently  fresh  fun  gathered  in  Mrs.  Linceford's  eyes. 
"  You're  making  queer  friends,  child,  do  you  know,  at 
the  beginning  of  your  travels?  We  shall  have  Cocky- 
locky,  and  Turkey-lurky,  and  Goosie-poosie,  and  all  the 
rest  of  them,  before  we  get  much  farther.  Don't  breathe 
a  word,  girls,"  she  went  on,  turning  toward  them  all,  and 
brimming  over  with  merriment  and  mischief,—"  but 
there's  the  best  joke  brewing.  It's  just  like  a  farce. 
Is  the  door  shut,  Elinor  ?  And  are  the  Thoresbys  gone 
upstairs?  They're  going  with  us,  you  know?  And 
there's  nothing  to  be  said  about  it  ?  And  it's  partly  to 
get  away  from  Marmaduke  Wharne  ?  Well,  he's  going, 
too.  And  it's  greatly  because  they're  spoiling  the  place 
for  him  here.  He  thinks  he'll  try  Outledge ;  and  there's 
nothing  to  be  said  about  that  either!  And  I'm  the 
unhappy  depositary  of  all  their  complaints  and  secrets. 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     79 

And  if  nobody's  stopped,  they'll  all  be  off  in  the  stage 
with  us  to-morrow  morning!  I  couldn't  help  telling 
you,  for  it  was  too  good  to  keep." 

The  secrets  were  secrets  through  the  day;  and  Mrs. 
Linceford  had  her  quiet  fun,  and  opportunity  for  her 
demure  teasing. 

"  How  long  since  Out-ledge  was  discovered  and  settled  ? 
By  the  moderns,  I  mean,"  said  Mr.  Wharne.  "  What 
chance  will  one  really  have  of  quiet  there  ?  " 

"  Well,  really,  to  be  honest,  Mr.  Wharne,  I'm  afraid 
Outledge  will  be  just  at  the  rampant  stage  this  summer. 
It's  the  second  year  of  anything  like  general  accommoda 
tion,  and  everybody  has  just  heard  of  it,  and  it's  the 
knowing  and  stylish  thing  to  go  there.  For  a  week  or 
two  it  may  be  quiet ;  but  then  there'll  be  a  jam.  There'll 
be  hops,  and  tableaux,  and  theatricals,  of  course;  in 
terspersed  with  '  picnicking  at  the  tomb  of  Jehoshaphat,' 
or  whatever  mountain  solemnity  stands  for  that.  It'll 
be  human  nature  right  over  again,  be  assured,  Mr. 
Wharne." 

Yet,  somehow,  Mr.  Wharne  would  not  be  frightened 
from  his  determination.  Until  the  evening ;  when  plans 
came  out,  and  good-byes  and  wonders  and  lamentations 
began. 

"  Yes,  we  have  decided  quite  suddenly ;  the  girls  want 
to  see  Outledge,  and  there's  a  pleasant  party  of  friends, 
you  know, — one  can't  always  have  that.  We  shall 
probably  fill  a  stage, — so  they  will  take  us  through,  in 
stead  of  dropping  us  at  the  Crawford  House."  In  this 
manner  Mrs.  Thoresby  explained  to  her  dear  friend, 
Mrs.  Devreaux. 


8o    A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

"  We  shall  be  quite  sorry  to  lose  you  all.  But  it  would 
only  have  been  a  day  or  so  longer,  at  any  rate.  Our 
rooms  are  engaged  for  the  fifteenth,  at  Saratoga ;  we've 
very  little  time  left  for  the  mountains,  and  it  wouldn't 
be  worth  while  to  go  off  the  regular  track.  We  shall 
probably  go  down  to  the  Profile  on  Saturday." 

And  then — da  capo — "  Jefferson  was  no  place  really 
to  stay  at;  you  got  the  whole  in  the  first  minute,"  etc., 
etc. 

"  Good  night,  Mrs.  Linceford.  I'm  going  up  to 
unpack  my  valise  and  make  myself  comfortable  again. 
All  things  come  round,  or  go  by,  I  find,  if  one  only 
keeps  one's  self  quiet.  But  I  shall  look  in  upon  you  at 
Outledge  yet."  These  were  the  stairway  words  of 
Marmaduke  Wharne  to-night. 

"  '  One  gets  the  whole  in  the  first  minute  ' !  How  can 
they  keep  saying  that?  Look,  Elinor,  and  see  if  you 
can  tell  me  where  we  are  ? "  was  Leslie's  cry,  as,  early 
next  morning,  she  drew  up  her  window-shade,  to  look 
forth — on  what  ? 

Last  night  had  lain  there,  underneath  them,  the  great 
basin  between  Starr  King,  behind,  and  the  roots  of  that 
lesser  range,  far  down,  above  which  the  blue  Lafayette 
uprears  itself.  An  enormous  valley,  filled  with  ever 
green  forest,  over  whose  tall  pines  and  cedars  one  looked, 
as  if  they  were  but  juniper  and  blueberry  bushes ;  far  up 
above  whose  heads  the  real  average  of  the  vast  mountain- 
country  heaped  itself  in  swelling  masses, — miles  and 
miles  of  beetling  height  and  solid  breadth.  This  morn 
ing  it  was  gone ;  only  the  great  peaks  showed  themselves, 
as  a  far-off,  cliff-bound  shore,  or  here  and  there  a  green 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     81 

island  in  a  vast,  vaporous  lake.  The  night-chill  had 
come  down  among  the  heights,  condensing  the  warm 
exhalations  of  the  valley -bosom  that  had  been  shone 
into  all  day  yesterday  by  the  long  summer  sun;  till, 
when  he  lifted  himself  once  more  out  of  the  east,  sending 
his  leaping  light  from  crest  to  crest,  white  fallen  clouds 
were  tumbling  and  wreathing  themselves  about  the  knees 
and  against  the  mighty  bosoms  of  the  giants,  and  at  their 
feet  the  forest  was  a  sea. 

"  We  must  dress,  and  we  must  look !  "  exclaimed 
Leslie,  as  the  early  summons  came  for  them.  "  O  dear ! 
O  dear !  if  we  were  only  like  the  birds !  or  if  all  this  would 
wait  till  we  get  down !  " 

"  Please  drop  the  shade  just  a  minute,  Les.  This 
glass  is  in  such  a  horrid  light !  I  don't  seem  to  have  but 
half  a  face,  and  I  can't  tell  which  is  the  up-side  of  that ! 
And — O  dear !  I've  no  time  to  get  into  a  fuss !  "  Elinor 
had  not  disdained  the  beauty  and  wonder  without ;  but 
it  was,  after  all,  necessary  to  be  dressed,  and  in  a 
given  time;  and  a  bad  light  for  a  looking-glass  is  such 
a  disastrous  thing! 

"  I've  brushed  out  half  my  crimps,"  she  said  again ; 
"  and  my  ruffle  is  basted  in  wrong  side  out,  and  alto 
gether  I'm  got  up  a  la  furieuse ! "  But  she  laughed 
before  she  had  done  scolding,  catching  sight  of  her  own 
exaggerated  little  frown  in  the  distorting  glass,  that  was 
unable,  with  all  its  malice,  to  spoil  the  bright  young  face 
when  it  came  to  smiles  and  dimples. 

And  then  Jeannie  came  knocking  at  the  door.  They 
had  spare  minutes,  after  all,  and  the  mists  were  yet  toss 
ing  in  the  valley  when  they  went  down.  They  were 


82     A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

growing  filmy,  and  floating  away  in  shining  fragments 
up  over  the  shoulders  of  the  hills,  and  the  lake  was  lower 
and  less,  and  the  emerging  green  was  like  the  "  Thou 
sand  Islands." 

They  waited  a  little  there,  in  the  wide,  open  door,  to 
gether,  and  looked  out  upon  it ;  and  then  the  Haddens 
went  round  into  their  sister's  room,  and  Leslie  was  left 
alone  in  the  rare,  sweet,  early  air.  The  secret  joy  came 
whispering  at  her  heart  again;  that  there  was  all  this 
in  the  world,  and  that  one  need  not  be  utterly  dull  and 
mean,  and  dead  to  it ;  that  something  in  her  answered  to 
the  greatness  overshadowing  her;  that  it  was  possible, 
sometimes,  and  that  people  did  reach  out  into  a  larger 
life  than  that  of  self  and  every-day.  How  else  did  the 
great  mountains  draw  them  to  themselves  so  ?  But  then 
she  would  not  always  be  among  the  mountains. 

And  so  she  stood,  drinking  in  at  her  eyes  all  the 
shifting  and  melting  splendors  of  the  marvellous  scene, 
with  her  thought  busy,  once  more,  in  its  own  questioning. 
She  remembered  what  she  had  said  to  Cousin  Delight: 
"  It  is  all  outside.  Going,  and  doing,  and  seeing,  and 
hearing,  and  having.  In  myself,  am  I  good  for  my 
more,  after  all?  Or  only — a  green  fig-tree  in  the  sun 
shine  ? " 

Why,  with  that  word,  did  it  all  flash  together  for  her, 
as  a  connected  thing?  Her  talk  that  morning,  many 
weeks  ago,  that  had  seemed  to  ramble  so  from  one 
irrelevant  matter  to  another, — from  the  parable  to  her 
fancy  travelling, — the  scenes  and  pleasures  she  had  made 
for  herself,  wondering  if  the  real  would  ever  come, — to 
the  linen-drawer,  representing  her  little  feminine  absorp- 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     83 

tions  and  interests, — and  back  to  the  fig-tree  again,  end 
ing  with  that  word, — the  real  living  is  the  urging  toward 
the  fruit  "  ?  Her  day's  journey,  and  the  hints  of  life — 
narrowed,  suffering,  working — that  had  come  to  her, 
each  with  its  problem  ?  Marmaduke  Wharne's  indignant 
protest  against  people  who  "  did  not  know  their  daily 
bread,"  and  his  insistence  upon  the  two  things  for  human 
creatures  to  do, — the  receiving  and  the  giving;  the 
taking  from  God,  in  the  sunshine,  to  grow;  the  ripening 
into  generous  uses  for  others ;  was  it  all  one,  and  did  it 
define  the  whole,  and  was  it  identical,  in  the  broadest 
and  highest,  with  that  sublime  double  command  whereon 
"  hang  the  law  and  the  prophets  "  ? 

Something  like  this  passed  into  her  mind  and  soul, 
brightening  there,  like  the  morning.  It  seemed,  in  that 
glimpse,  so  clear  and  gracious, — the  truth  that  had  been 
puzzling  her. 

Easy,  beautiful  summer-work ;  only  to  be  shone  upon ; 
to  lift  up  one's  branching  life,  and  be — reverently — 
glad ;  to  grow  sweet  and  helpful  and  good-giving,  in 
one's  turn ; — could  she  not  begin  to  do  that  ?  Perhaps 
— by  ever  so  little;  the  fruit  might  be  but  a  berry,  yet 
it  might  be  fair  and  full,  after  its  kind;  and,  at  least, 
some  little  bird  might  be  the  better  for  it.  All  around 
her,  too,  the  life  of  the  world  that  had  so  troubled  her, — 
who  could  tell,  in  the  tangle  of  green,  where  the  good 
and  the  gift  might  ripen  and  fall?  Every  little  fern- 
frond  has  its  seed. 

Jeannie  came  behind  her  again,  and  called  her  back  to 
the  contradictory  phase  of  self,  that,  with  us  all,  is  almost 


84    A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

ready,  like  Peter,  to  deny  the  truth.  "  What  are  you 
deep  in  now,  Les  ?  " 

"  Nothing.  Only — we  go  down  from  here,  don't  we, 
Jeannie  ? " 

"  Yes.  And  a  very  good  thing  for  you,  too.  You've 
been  in  the  clouds  long  enough.  I  shall  be  glad  to  get 
you  to  the  common  level  again." 

"  You've  no  need  to  be  anxious.  I  can  come  down 
as  fast  as  anybody.  That  isn't  the  hard  thing  to  do. 
Let's  go  in,  and  get  salt-fish  and  cream  for  our  break 
fast." 

The  Haddens  were  new  to  mountain  travel;  the 
Thoresbys,  literally,  were  "  old  stagers  " ;  they  were  up 
in  the  stable-yard  before  Mrs.  Linceford's  party  came 
out  from  the  breakfast-room.  Dakie  Thayne  was  there 
too;  but  that  was  quite  natural  for  a  boy. 

They  got  their  outside  seats  by  it,  scrambling  up  be 
fore  the  horses  were  put  to,  and  sitting  there  while  the 
hostlers  smiled  at  each  other  over  their  work.  There 
was  room  for  two  more,  and  Dakie  Thayne  took  a  place ; 
but  the  young  ladies  looked  askance,  for  Ginevra  had 
been  detained  by  her  mother,  a«id  Imogen  had  hoped  to 
keep  a  seat  for  Jeannie,  without  drawing  the  whole  party 
after  her,  and  running  aground  upon  politeness.  So 
they  drov«  round  to  the  door. 

"  First  come,  first  served,"  cried  Imogen,  beckoning 
Jeannie,  who  happened  to  be  there,  looking  for  her 
friend.  "  I've  saved  a  place  for  you  " ; — and  Jeannie 
Hadden,  nothing  loath,  as  a  man  placed  the  mounting- 
board,  sprang  up  and  took  it. 

Then  the  others  came  out.     Mrs.  Thoresby  and  Mrs. 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     85 

Linceford  got  inside  the  vehicle  at  once,  securing  com 
fortable  back  corner-seats.  Ginevra,  with  Leslie  and 
Elinor,  and  one  or  two  others  too  late  for  their  own  inter 
est,  but  quite  comprehending  the  thing  to  be  preferred, 
lingered  while  the  last  trunks  went  on,  hoping  for  room 
to  be  made  somehow. 

"  It's  so  gay  on  the  top,  going  down  into  the  villages. 
There's  no  fun  inside,"  said  Imogen,  complacently,  set 
tling  herself  upon  her  perch. 

"  Won't  there  be  another  stage  ?  " 

"  Only  half-way.     This  one  goes  through." 

"  I'll  go  half-way  on  the  other,  then,"  said  Ginevra. 

"  This  is  the  best  team,  and  goes  on  ahead,"  was  the 
reply. 

"You'll  be  left  behind,"  cried  Mrs.  Thoresby. 
"  Don't  think  of  it,  Ginevra !  " 

"  Can't  that  boy  sit  back,  on  the  roof  ? "  asked  the 
young  lady. 

"  That  boy  "  quite  ignored  the  allusion ;  but  presently,, 
as  Ginevra  moved  toward  the  coach-window  to  speak 
with  her  mother,  he  leaned  down  to  Leslie  Goldthwaite. 
"  I'll  make  room  for  you"  he  said. 

But  Leslie  had  decided.  She  could  not,  with  effron 
tery  of  selfishness,  take  the  last  possible  place, — a  place 
already  asked  for  by  another.  She  thanked  Dakie 
Thayne,  and,  with  just  one  little  secret  sigh,  got  into  the 
interior,  placing  herself  by  the  farther  door. 

At  that  moment  she  missed  something.  "  I've  left 
my  brown  veil  in  your  room,  Mrs.  Linceford  "  ; — and 
she  was  about  to  alight  again  to  go  for  it. 

"  I'll  fetch  it,"  cried  Dakie  Thayne  from  overhead, 


86     A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

and,  as  he  spoke,  came  down,  on  her  side,  by  the  wheel, 
and,  springing  around  to  the  house  entrance,  disappeared 
up  the  stairs. 

"  Ginevra !  "  Then  there  came  a  laugh  and  a  shout 
and  some  crinoline  against  the  forward  open  corner  of  the 
coach,  and  Ginevra  Thoresby  was  by  the  driver's  side. 
A  little  ashamed,  in  spite  of  herself,  though  it  was  done 
under  cover  of  a  joke ;  but  "  All's  fair  among  the  moun 
tains,"  somebody  said,  and  "  Possession's  nine  points," 
said  another,  and  the  laugh  was  with  her,  seemingly. 

Dakie  Thayne  flushed  up,  hot,  without  a  word,  when 
he  came  out,  an  instant  after. 

"  I'm  so  sorry !  "  said  Leslie,  with  real  regret,  accented 
with  honest  indignation. 

"  It's  your  place,"  called  out  a  rough  man,  who  made 
the  third  upon  the  coach-box.  "  Why  don't  you  stick 
up  for  it  ?  " 

The  color  went  down  slowly  in  the  boy's  face,  and  a 
pride  came  up  in  his  eye.  He  put  his  hand  to  his  cap, 
with  a  little  irony  of  deference,  and  lifted  it  off  with  the 
grace  of  a  grown  man.  "  I  know  it's  my  place.  But 
the  young  lady  may  keep  it — now.  I'd  rather  be  a 
gentleman !  "  said  Dakie  Thayne. 

"  You've  got  the  best  of  it !  "  This  came  from  Mar- 
maduke  Wharne,  as  the  door  closed  upon  the  boy,  and 
the  stage  rolled  down  the  road  toward  Cherry  Moun 
tain. 

There  is  a  "  best "  to  be  got  out  of  everything ;  but  it 
is  neither  the  best  of  place  or  possession,  nor  the  chuckle 
of  the  last  word. 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.    87 


VI. 


AMONG  the  mountains,  somewhere  between  the  An- 
droscoggin  and  the  Saco, — I  don't  feel  bound  to  tell 
you  precisely  where,  and  I  have  only  a  story-teller's 
word  to  give  you  for  it  at  all, — lies  the  little  neighbor 
hood  of  Outledge.  An  odd  corner  of  a  great  township 
such  as  they  measure  off  in  these  wilds,  where  they  take 
in,  with  some  eligible  "  locations  "  of  intervale  land, 
miles  also  of  pathless  forest  where  the  bear  and  the  moose 
are  wandering  still,  a  pond,  perhaps,  filling  up  a  basin  of 
acres  and  acres  in  extent,  and  a  good-sized  mountain  or 
two,  thrown  in  to  keep  off  the  north-wind, — a  corner 
cut  off,  as  its  name  indicates,  by  the  outrunning  of  a  pre 
cipitous  ridge  of  granite,  round  which  a  handful  of 
population  had  crept  had  built  itself  a  group  of  dwell 
ings, — this  was  the  spot  discovered  and  seized  to  them 
selves  some  four  or  five  years  since  by  certain  migratory 
pioneers  of  fashion. 

An  old  two-story  farm-house,  with  four  plain  rooms  of 
generous  dimensions  on  each  floor,  in  which  the  first 
delighted  summer-party  had  divided  itself,  glad  and 
grateful  to  occupy  them  double  and  even  treble  bedded, 
had  become  the  "  hotel,"  with  a  name  up  across  the 
gable  of  the  new  wing, — "  Giant's-Cairn  House," — and 
the  eight  original  rooms  made  into  fourteen.  The  wing 


88     A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

was  clapped  on  by  its  middle ;  rushing  out  at  the  front 
toward  the  road  to  meet  the  summer-tide  of  travel  as  it 
should  surge  by,  and  hold  up  to  it,  arrestively,  its  titular 
signboard ;  the  other  half  as  expressively  making  its  bee- 
line  toward  the  river  and  the  mountain-view  at  back, — 
just  as  each  fresh  arrival,  seeking  out  the  preferable 
rooms,  inevitably  did.  Behind,  upon  the  other  side,  an  L 
provided  new  kitchens;  and  over  these,  within  a  year, 
had  been  carried  up  a  second  story,  with  a  hall  for  danc 
ing,  tableaux,  theatricals,  and  travelling  jugglers. 

Up  to  this  hostelry  whirled  daily,  from  the  south 
ward,  the  great  six-horse  stage ;  and  from  the  northward 
came  thrice  a  week  wagons  or  coaches  "  through  the 
hills,"  besides  such  "  extras  "  as  might  drive  down  at 
any  hour  of  day  or  night. 

Round  the  smooth  curve  of  broad,  level  road  that 
sldrted  the  ledges  from  the  upper  village  pranced  four 
splendid  bays;  and  after  them  rollicked  and  swayed, 
with  a  perfect  delirium  of  wheels  and  springs,  the  great 
black  and  yellow-bodied  vehicle,  like  a  huge  bumble-bee 
buzzing  back  with  its  spoil  of  a  June  day  to  the  hive. 
The  June  sunset  was  golden  and  rosy  upon  the  hills  and 
cliffs,  and  Giant's  Cairn  stood  burnished  against  the 
eastern  blue.  Gay  companies,  scattered  about  piazzas 
and  greenswards,  stopped  in  their  talk,  or  their  prom 
enades,  or  their  croquet,  to  watch  the  arrivals. 

"  It's  stopping  at  the  Green  Cottage." 

"  It's  the  Haddens.  Their  rooms  have  been  waiting 
since  the  twenty-third,  and  all  the  rest  are  full."  And 
two  or  three  young  girls  dropped  mallets  and  ran  over. 

"  Maud  Walcott !  "     "  Mattie  Shannon !  " 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     89 

"Jennie!"     "Nell!" 

"  How  came  you  here  ?  " 

"  We've  been  here  these  ten  days, — looking  for  you 
the  last  three." 

"  Why,  I  can't  take  it  in !     I'm  so  surprised !  " 

"  Isn't  it  jolly,  though  ?  " 

"  Miss  Goldthwaite, — Miss  Walcott.  Miss  Shannon, 
— Miss  Goldthwaite. — My  sister,  Mrs.  Linceford." 

"  Me  void !  "  And  a  third  came  up,  suddenly,  lay 
ing  a  hand  upon  each  of  the  Haddens  from  behind. 

"  You,  Sin  Saxon !     How  many  more  ?  " 

"  We're  coming,  Father  Abraham !  All  of  us, 
nearly;  three  hundred  thousand  more — or  less;  half  the 
Routh  girls,  with  Madam  to  the  fore !  " 

"  And  we've  got  all  the  farther  end  of  the  wing  down 
stairs, — the  garden  bedrooms;  you've  no  idea  how 
scrumptious  it  is!  You  must  come  over  after  tea,  and 
see." 

"  Not  all,  Mattie ;  you  forget  the  solitary  spinster." 

"  No,  I  don't ;  who  ever  does  ?  But  can't  you  ignore 
her  for  once  ? 

"  Or  let  a  fellow  speak  in  the  spirit  of  prophecy  ?  " 
said  Sin  Saxon.  "  We're  sure  to  get  the  better  of  Gray- 
wacke,  and  why  not  anticipate  ?  " 

"  Graywacke  ?  "  said  Jeannie  Hadden.  "  Is  that  a 
name?  It  sounds  like  the  side  of  a  mountain." 

"  And  acts  like  one,"  rejoined  Sin  Saxon.  "  Won't 
budge.  But  it  isn't  her  name,  exactly;  only  Saxon  for 
Craydocke;  suggestive  of  obstinacy  and  the  Old  Silu 
rian.  An  ancient  maiden  who  infests  our  half  the  wing. 
We've  got  all  the  rooms  but  hers,  and  we're  bound  to 


90     A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthvvaite's  Life. 

get  her  out.  She's  been  there  three  years,  in  the  same 
spot, — went  in  with  the  lath  and  plaster, — and  it's  time 
she  started.  Besides,  haven't  I  got  manifest  destiny  on 
my  side  ?  Ain't  I  a  Saxon  ?  "  Sin  Saxon  tossed  up  a 
merry,  bewitching,  saucy  glance  out  of  her  blue,  starlike 
eyes,  that  shone  under  a  fair,  low  brow  touched  and 
crowned  lightly  with  the  soft  haze  of  gold-brown  locks 
frizzed  into  a  delicate  mistiness  after  the  ruling  fashion 
of  the  hour. 

"  What  a  pretty  thing  she  is !  "  said  Mrs.  Liuceford, 
when,  seeing  her  busy  with  her  boxes,  and  the  master  of 
the  house  approaching  to  show  the  new  arrivals  to  their 
rooms,  Sin  Saxon  and  her  companions  flitted  away  as 
they  had  come,  with  a  few  more  sentences  of  bright  girl- 
nonsense  flung  back  at  parting.  "  And  a  witty  little 
minx,  as  well.  Where  did  you  know  her,  Jeannie? 
And  what  sort  of  a  satanic  name  is  that  you  call  her 
by?" 

"  Just  suits  such  a  mischief,  doesn't  it  ?  Short  for 
Asenath, — it  was  always  her  school-name.  She's  just 
finished  her  last  year  at  Madam  Routh's ;  she  came  there 
soon  after  we  did.  It's  a  party  of  the  graduates,  and 
some  younger  ones  left  with  Madam  for  the  long  holi 
days,  that  she  's  travelling  with.  I  wonder  if  she  isn't 
sick  of  her  life,  though,  by  this  time!  Fancy  those 
girls,  Nell,  with  a  whole  half-wing  of  the  hotel  to  them 
selves,  and  Sin  Saxon  in  the  midst !  " 

"  Poor  '  Graywacke '  in  the  midst,  you  mean,"  said 
Nell. 

"  Like  a  respectable  old  grimalkin  at  the  mercy  of  a 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     91 

crowd  of  boys  and  a  tin  kettle,"  added  Jeannie,  laugh 
ing. 

"  I've  no  doubt  she's  a  very  nice  person,  too.  I  only 
hope,  if  I  come  across  her,  I  mayn't  call  her  Graywacke 
to  her  face,"  said  Mrs.  Linceford. 

"  Just  what  you'll  be  morally  sure  to  do,  Augusta !  " 

With  this,  they  had  come  up  the  staircase  and  along  a 
narrow  passage  leading  down  between  a  dozen  or  so  of 
small  bedrooms  on  either  side, — for  the  Green  Cottage 
also  had  run  out  its  addition  of  two  stories  since  sum 
mer  guests  had  become  many  and  importunate,i — and 
stood  now  where  three  open  doors,  one  at  the  right  and 
two  at  the  left,  invited  their  entrance  upon  what  was  to 
be  their  own  especial  territory  for  the  next  two  months. 
From  one  side  they  looked  up  the  river  along  the  face 
of  the  great  ledges,  and  caught  the  grandeur  of  far-ofi 
Washington,  Adams,  and  Madison,  filling  up  the  north 
ward  end  of  the  long  valley.  The  aspect  of  the  other1 
was  toward  the  frowning  glooms  of  Giant's  Cairn  close 
by,  and  broadened  then  down  over  the  pleasant  sub 
sidence  of  the  southern  country  to  where  the  hills  grew 
less,  and  fair,  small,  modest  peaks  lifted  themselves  just 
into  blue  height  and  nothing  more,  smiling  back  with  a 
contented  deference  toward  the  mightier  majesties,  as 
those  who  might  say, — "  We  do  our  gentle  best ;  it  is  not 
yours;  yet  we  too  are  mountains,  though  but  little  ones." 
From  underneath  spread  the  foreground  of  green,  bril 
liant  intervale,  with  the  river  flashing  down  between 
margins  of  sand  and  pebbles  in  the  midst. 

Here  they  put  Leslie  Goldthwaite;  and  here,  some 
how,  her  first  sensation,  as  she  threw  back  her  blinds  to 


92     A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

let  in  all  the  twilight  for  her  dressing,  was  a  feeling  of 
half  relief  from  the  strained  awe  and  wonder  of  the  last 
few  days.  Life  would  not  seem  so  petty  here  as  in  the 
face  of  all  that  solemn  stateliness.  There  was  a  reaction 
of  respite  and  repose.  And  why  not?  The  great  emo 
tions  are  not  meant  to  come  to  us  daily  in  their  unquali 
fied  strength.  God  knows  how  to  dilute  his  elixirs  for 
the  soul.  His  fine,  impalpable  air,  spread  round  the 
earth,  is  not  more  cunningly  mixed  from  pungent  gases 
for  our  hourly  breath,  than  life  itself  is  thinned  and 
toned  that  we  may  receive  and  bear  it. 

Leslie  wondered  if  it  were  wrong  that  the  high  moun 
tain  fervor  let  itself  go  from  her  so  soon  and  easily ;  that 
the  sweet  pleasantness  of  this  new  resting-place  should 
come  to  her  as  a  rest ;  that  the  laughter  and  frolic  of  the 
school-girls  made  her  glad  with  such  sudden  sympathy 
and  foresight  of  enjoyment ;  that  she  should  have  "  come 
down  "  all  the  way  from  Jefferson  in  Jeannie's  sense, 
and  that  she  almost  felt  it  a  comfortable  thing  herself 
not  to  be  kept  always  "  up  in  the  clouds." 

Sin  Saxon,  as  they  called  her,  was  so  bright  and  odd 
and  fascinating;  was  there  any  harm — because  no  spe 
cial,  obvious  good — in  that  ?  There  was  a  little  twinge 
of  doubt,  remembering  poor  Miss  Craydocke;  but  that 
had  seemed  pure  fun,  not  malice,  after  all, — and  it  was, 
hearing  Sin  Saxon  tell  it,  very  funny.  She  could 
imagine  the  life  they  led  the  quiet  lady, — yet,  if  it  were 
quite  intolerable,  why  did  she  remain  ?  Perhaps,  after 
all,  she  saw  through  the  fun  of  it.  And  I  think,  myself, 
perhaps  she  did. 

The   Marie   Stuart  net  went  on  to-night;    and  then 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     93 

such  a  pretty  muslin,  white,  with  narrow,  mode-brown 
stripes,  and  small,  bright  leaves  dropped  over  them,  as  if 
its  wearer  had  stood  out  under  a  maple-tree  in  October, 
and  all  the  tiniest  and  most  radiant  bits  had  fallen  and 
fastened  themselves  about  her.  And,  last  of  all,  with 
her  little  hooded  cape  of  scarlet  cashmere  over  her  arm, 
she  went  down  to  eat  cream-biscuit  and  wood-straw 
berries  for  tea.  Her  summer  life  began  with  a  charm 
ing  freshness  and  dainty  delight. 

There  were  pleasant  voices  of  happy  people  about 
them  in  hall  and  open  parlor,  as  they  sat  at  their  late 
repast.  Everything  seemed  indicative  of  abundant 
coming  enjoyment;  and  the  girls  chatted  gayly  of  all 
they  had  already  discovered  or  conjectured,  and  began 
to  ta^  of  the  ways  of  the  place  and  the  sojourners  in  it, 
quite  like  old  habifuees. 

It  was  even  more  delightful  yet,  strolling  out  when 
tea  was  over,  and  meeting  the  Routh  party  again  half 
way  between  the  cottage  and  the  hotel,  and  sauntering 
on  with  them,  insensibly,  till  they  found  themselves  on 
the  wide  wing-piazza,  upon  which  opened  the  garden 
bedrooms,  and  being  persuaded  after  all  to  sit  down 
since  they  had  got  there,  though  Mrs.  Linceford  had 
demurred  at  a  too  hasty  rushing  over,  as  new-comers,  to 
begin  visits*  -  •••  •- 

"  O,  nobody  knows  when  they  are  called  upon  here,  or 
who  comes  first,"  said  Mattie  Shannon.  "  We  generally 
receive  half-way  across  the  green,  and  it's  a  chance 
which  turns  back,  or  whether  we  get  near  either  house 
again  or  not.  Houses  don't  signify,  except  when  it 
rains." 


94    A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

"  But  it  just  signifies  that  you  should  see  how  mag 
nificently  we  have  settled  ourselves  for  nights,  and  dress 
ing,  and  when  it  does  rain,"  said  Sin  Saxon,  throwing 
back  a  door  behind  her,  that  stood  a  little  ajar.  It 
opened  directly  into  a  small  apartment,  half  parlor  and 
half  dressing-room,  from  which  doors  showed  others,  on 
either  side,  furnished  as  sleeping-rooms. 

"  It  was  Maud  Walcott's,  between  the  Arnalls'  and 
mine;  but,  what  with  our  trunks,  and  our  beds,  and 
our  crinolines,  and  our  towel-stands,  we  wanted  a 
Bowditch's  Navigator  to  steer  clear  of  the  reefs,  and 
something  was  always  getting  knocked  over;  so,  one 
night,  we  were  seized  simultaneously  with  an  idea. 
We'd  make  a  boudoir  of  this  for  the  general  good,  and 
forthwith  we  fell  upon  the  bed,  and  amongst  us  got  it 
down.  It  was  the  greatest  fun!  We  carried  the  pieces 
and  the  mattresses  all  off  ourselves  up  to  the  attic,  after 
ten  o'clock,  and  we  gave  the  chambermaid  a  dollar  next 
morning,  and  nobody's  been  the  wiser  since.  And  then 
we  walked  to  the  upper  village  and  bought  that  extra 
ordinary  chintz,  and  frilled  and  cushioned  our  trunks 
into  ottomans,  and  curtained  the  dress-hooks;  and 
Lucinda  got  us  a  rocking-chair,  and  Maud  came  in  with 
me  to  sleep,  and  we  kept  our  extra  pillows,  and  we 
should  be  comfortable  as  queens  if  it  wasn't  for  Gray- 
wacke." 

"  Now,  Sin  Saxon,  you  know  Graywacke  is  just  the 
life  of  the  house.  What  would  such  a  parcel  of  us  do, 
if  we  hadn't  something  to  run  upon  ?  " 

"  Only^  I'm  afraid  I  shall  get  tired  of  it  at  last.  She 
bears  it  so.  It  isn't  exactly  saintliness,  nor  Gray- 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     95 

wackeiness,  but  it  seems  sometimes  as  if  she  took  a  quiet 
kind  of  fun  out  of  it  herself, — as  if  she  were  somehow 
laughing  at  us,  after  all,  in  her  sleeve;  and  if  she  is, 
she's  got  the  biggest  end.  She's  bright  enough." 

"  Don't  we  tree-toad  her  within  an  inch  of  her  life, 
though,  when  we  come  home  in  the  wagons  at  night  ?  I 
shouldn't  think  she  could  stand  that  long.  I  guess  she 
wants  all  her  beauty-sleep.  And  Kate  Arnall  can  tu- 
whit,  tu-whoo!  equal  to  Tennyson  himself,  or  any  great 
white  American  owl." 

"  Yes,  but  what  do  you  think  ?  As  true  as  I  live,  I 
heard  her  answer  back  the  other  night  with  such  a  sly 
little  '  Katy-did  1  she  did !  she  did ! '  I  thought  at  first 
it  actually  came  from  the  great  elm-trees.  O,  she's  been 
a  girl  once,  you  may  depend ;  and  hasn't  more  than  half 
got  over  it  either.  But  wait  till  we  have  our  l  howl ' !  " 

What  a  "  howl  "  was,  superlative  to  "  tree-toading," 
"  owl-hooting,"  and  other  divertisements,  did  not  appear 
at  this  time ;  for  a  young  man  did,  approaching  from  the 
front  of  the  hotel,  and  came  up  to  the  group  on  the  piazza 
with  the  question,  "  At  what  time  do  we  set  off  for 
Feather-Cap  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  O,  early,  Mr.  Scherman ;  by  nine  o'clock." 

"  Earlier  than  you'll  be  ready,"  said  Frank  Scher- 
inan's  sister,  one  of  the  "  Eouth  "  girls  also. 

"  I  sha'n't  have  any  crimps  to  take  down,  that's  one 
thing,"  Frank  answered.  And  Sin  Saxon,  glancing  at 
his  handsome  waving  hair,  whispered  saucily  to  Jeannie 
Hadden,  "  I  don't  more  than  half  believe  that,  either  " ; 
— then,  aloud,  "  You  must  join  the  party  too,  girls,  by 
the  way.  It's  one  of  the  nicest  excursions  here.  We've 


96     A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

got  two  wagons,  and  they'll  be  full;  but  there's  Hoi- 
den's  '  little  red '  will  take  six,  and  I  don't  believe  any 
body  has  spoken  for  it.  Mr.  Scherman!  wouldn't  it 
make  you  happy  to  go  and  see  ?  " 

"  Most   intensely !  "    and   Frank    Schennan  bowed   a 

low,  graceful  bow,  settling  back  into  his  first  attitude, 

however,  as  one  who  could  quite  willingly  resign  himself 

to  his  present  comparative  unhappiness  awhile  longer. 

t  "  Where  is  Feather-Cap  ?  "  asked  Leslie  Goldthwaite. 

"  It's  the  mountain  you  see  there,  peeping  round  the 
shoulder  of  Giant's  Cairn ;  a  comfortable  little  rudiment 
of  a  mountain,  just  enough  for  a  primer-lesson  in  climb 
ing.  Don't  you  see  how  the  crest  drops  over  on  one 
side,  and  that  scrap  of  pine — which  is  really  a  huge 
gaunt  thing  a  hundred  years  old — slants  out  from  it  with 
just  a  tuft  of  green  at  the  very  tip,  like  an  old  feather 
stuck  in  jauntily  ?  " 

"  And  the  pine-woods  round  the  foot  of  the  Cairn  are 
lovely,"  said  Maud. 

"  Oh !  "  cried  Leslie,  drawing  a  long  breath,  as  if 
their  spicy  smell  were  already  about  her,  "  there  is 
nothing  I  delight  in  so  as  pines !  " 

"  You'll  have  your  fill  to-morrow,  then ;  for  it's  ten 
miles  through  nothing  else,  and  the  road  is  like  a  carpet 
with  the  soft  brown  needles." 

"  I  hope  Augusta  won't  be  too  tired  to  feel  like 
going,"  said  Elinor. 

"  We  had  better  ask  her  soon,  then ;  she  is  looking 
this  way  now.  We  ought  to  go,  Sin;  we've  got  all  our 
settling  to  do  for  the  night." 

"  We'll    walk    over    with    you,"    said    Sin    Saxon. 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     97 

"  Then  we  shall  have  done  up  all  the  preliminaries 
nicely.  We  called  on  you — before  you  were  off  the 
stage-coach;  you've  returned  it;  and  now  we'll  pay  up 
and  leave  you  owing  us  one.  Come,  *Mr.  Scherman; 
you'll  be  so  far  on  your  way  to  Holden's,  and  perhaps 
inertia  will  carry  you  through." 

But  a  little  girl  presently  appeared,  running  from  the 
hotel  portico  at  the  front,  as  they  came  round  to  view 
from  thence.  Madam  Routh  was  sitting  in  the  open  hall 
with  some  newly  arrived  friends,  and  sent  one  of  her 
lambs,  as  Sin  called  them,  to  say  to  the  older  girls  that 
she  preferred  they  should  not  go  away  again  to-night. 

"  '  Ruin  seize  thee,  Routh — less  king !  '  ''  quoted  Sin 
Saxon,  with  an  absurd  air  of  declamation.  "  '  'Twas 
ever  thus  from  childhood's  hour,' — and  now,  just  as  we 
thought  childhood's  hour  was  comfortably  over, — that 
the  clock  had  struck  one,  and  down  we  might  run,  hick 
ory,  dickory,  dock, — behold  the  lengthened  sweetness 
long  drawn  out  of  school  rule  in  vacation,  even  before 
the  very  face  and  eyes  of  Freedom  on  her  mountain 
heights !  Well,  we  must  go,  I  suppose.  Mr.  Scherman, 
you'll  have  to  represent  us  to  Mrs.  Linceford,  and  per 
suade  her  to  join  us  to  Feather-Cap.  And  be  sure  you 
get  the  '  little  red  ' !  " 

"  It'll  be  all  the  worse  for  Graywacke,  if  we're  kept 
in  and  sent  off  early,"  she  continued,  sotto  voce,  to  her 
companions,  as  they  turned  away.  "  My !  what  has  that 
boy  got  ? " 

After  all  this,  I  wonder  if  you  wouldn't  just  like  to 
look  in  at  Miss  Craydocke's  room  with  me,  who  can  give 
you  a  pass  anywhere  within  the  geography  of  my  story  ? 


98     A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

She  came  in  here  "  with  the  lath  and  plaster,"  as  Sin 
Saxon  had  said.  She  had  gathered  little  comforts  and 
embellishments  about  her  from  summer  to  summer,  until 
the  room  had  a  home-cheeriness,  and  even  a  look  of 
luxury,  contrasted  with  the  bare  dormitories  around  it. 
Over  the  straw  matting,  that  soon  grows  shabby  in  a 
hotel,  she  had  laid  a  large,  nicely-bound  square  of  soft, 
green  carpet,  in  a  little  mossy  pattern,  that  covered  the 
middle  of  the  floor,  and  was  held  tidily  in  place  by  a  foot 
of  the  bedstead  and  two  forward  ones  each  of  the  table 
and  washstand.  On  this  little  green  stood  her  Shaker 
rocking-chair  and  a  round  white-pine  light-stand  with 
her  work-basket  and  a  few  books.  Against  the  wall 
hung  some  white-pine  shelves  with  more  books, — quite 
a  little  circulating  library  they  were  for  invalids  and 
read-out  people,  who  came  to  the  mountains,  like  foolish 
virgins,  wih  scant  supply  of  the  oil  of  literature  for  the 
feeding  of  their  brain-lamps.  Besides  these,  there  were 
engravings  and  photographs  in  passe-partout  frames, 
that  journeyed  with  her  safely  in  the  bottoms  of  her 
trunks.  Also,  the  wall  itself  had  been  papered,  at  her 
own  cost  and  providing,  with  a  pretty  pale-green  hang 
ing;  and  there  were  striped  muslin  curtains  to  the  win 
dow,  over  which  were  caught  the  sprays  of  some  light, 
wandering  vine  that  sprung  from  a  low-suspended  terra 
cotta  vase  between. 

She  had  everything  pretty  about  her,  this  old  Miss 
Craydocke.  How  many  people  do,  that  have  not  a  bit 
of  outward  prettiness  themselves!  Not  one  cubit  to  the 
stature,  not  one  hair  white  or  black,  can  they  add  or 
change;  and  around  them  grow  the  lilies  in  the  glory  of 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.     99 

Solomon,  and  a  frosted  leaf  or  a  mossy  twig,  that  they 
can  pick  up  from  under  their  feet  and  bring  home  from 
the  commonest  walk,  comes  in  with  them,  bearing  a 
brightness  and  a  grace  that  seems  sometimes  almost  like 
a  satire!  But  in  the  midst  grows  silently  the  century- 
plant  of  the  soul,  absorbing  to  itself  hourly  that  which 
feeds  the  beauty  of  the  lily  and  the  radiance  of  the  leaf, 
— waiting  only  for  the  hundred  years  of  its  shrouding  to 
be  over! 

Miss  Craydocke  never  came  in  from  the  woods  and 
rocks  without  her  trophies.  Rare,  lovely  mosses,  and 
bits  of  most  delicate  ferns,  maiden-hair  and  lady- 
bracken,  tiny  trails  of  wintergreen  and  arbutus,  filled  a 
great  shallow  Indian  china  dish  upon  her  bureau-top, 
and  grew,  in  their  fairy  fashion,  in  the  clear,  soft  water 
she  kept  them  freshened  with. 

Shining  scraps  of  mountain  minerals, — garnets  and 
bright-tinted  quartz  and  beryls,  heaped  artistically, 
rather  than  scientifically,  on  a  base  of  jasper  and 
malachite  and  dark  basalt  and  glistening  spar  and 
curious  fossils, — these  not  gathered  by  any  means  in  a 
single  summer  or  in  ordinary  ramblings,  but  treasured 
long,  and  standing,  some  of  them,  for  friendly  mem 
ories — balanced  on  the  one  side  a  like  grouping  of  shells 
and  corals  and  sea-mosses  on  the  other,  upon  a  broad 
bracket-mantel  put  up  over  a  little  corner  fireplace;  for 
Miss  Craydocke's  room,  joining  the  main  house,  took 
the  benefit  of  one  of  its  old  chimneys. 

Above  or  about  the  pictures  lay  mossy,  gnarled,  and 
twisted  branches,  gray  and  green,  framing  them  in  a 


ioo  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

forest  arabesque;  and  great  pine  cones,  pendent  from 
their  boughs,  crowned  and  canopied  the  mirror. 

"  What  do  you  keep  your  kindling-wood  up  there 
for  ?  "  Sin  Saxon  had  asked,  with  a  grave,  puzzled  face, 
coming  in,  for  pure  mischief,  on  one  of  her  frequent  and 
ingenious  errands. 

"  Why,  where  should  I  put  a  pile  of  wood  or  a 
basket?  There's  no  room  for  things  to  lie  round  here; 
you  have  to  hang  everything  up !  " — was  Miss  Cray- 
docke's  answer,  quick  as  a  flash,  her  eyes  twinkling 
comically  with  appreciation  of  the  fun. 

And  Sin  Saxon  had  gone  away  and  told  the  girls  that 
the  old  lady  knew  how  to  feather  her  nest  better  than 
any  of  them,  and  was  sharp  enough  at  a  peck,  too,  upon 
occasion. 

She  found  her  again,  one  morning,  sitting  in  the 
midst  of  a  pile  of  homespum,  which  she  was  cutting  up 
with  great  shears  into  boys'  blouses. 

"  There !  that's  the  noise  that  has  disturbed  me  so !  " 
cried  the  girl.  "  I  thought  it  was  a  hay-cutter,  or  a  plan- 
ing-machine,  or  that  you  had  got  the  asthma  awfully.  I 
couldn't  write  my  letter  for  listening  to  it,  and  came 
round  to  ask  what  was  the  matter! — Miss  Craydocke,  I 
don't  see  why  you  keep  the  door  bolted  on  your  side.  It 
:  isn't  any  more  fair  for  you  than  for  me ;  and  I'm  sure 
I  do  all  the  visiting.  Besides,  it's  dangerous.  What  if 
anything  should  happen  in  the  night  ?  I  couldn't  get  in 
to  help  you.  Or  there  might  be  a  fire  in  our  room, — 
I'm  sure  I  expect  nothing  else.  We  boiled  eggs  in  the 
Etna  the  other  night,  and  got  too  much  alcohol  in  the 
saucer;  and  then,  in  the  midst  of  the  blaze  and  excite- 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  101 

ment,  what  should  Madam  Routh  do  but  come  knocking 
at  the  door!  Of  course  we  had  to  put  it  in  the  closet, 
and  there  were  all  our  muslin  dresses,' — that  weren't 
hanging  on  the  hooks  in  Maud's  room !  I  assure  you  I 
felt  like  the  man  sitting  on  the  safety-valve,  standing 
with  my  back  against  the  door,  and  my  clothes  spread 
out  for  fear  she  would  see  the  flash  under  the  crack! 
For  we'd  nothing  else  but  moonlight  in  the  room. — But 
now  tell  me,  please,  what  are  all  these  things?  Meal- 
bags  ?  " 

"  Do  you  really  want  to  know  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do.  Now  that  I've  got  over  my  fright 
about  your  strangling  with  the  asthma — those  shears  did 
wheeze  so ! — my  curiosity  is  all  alive  again." 

"I've  a  cousin  down  in  North  Carolina  teaching  the 
little  freedmen." 

"  And  she's  to  have  all  these  sacks  to  tie  the  naughty 
ones  up  in  ?  What  a  bright  idea !  And  then  to  whip 
them  with  rods  as  the  Giant  did  his  crockery,  I  suppose  ? 
Or  perhaps — they  can't  be  petticoats!  Won't  she  be 
warm,  though  ?  " 

"  Maybe,  if  you  were  to  take  one  and  sew  up  the 
seams,  you  would  be  able  to  satisfy  yourself." 

"  I  ?  Why,  I  never  could  put  anything  together !  I 
tried  once,  with  a  pair  of  hospital  drawers,  and  they 
were  like  Sam  Hyde's  dog,  that  got  cut  in  two,  and 
clapped  together  again  in  a  hurry,  two  legs  up,  and  two 
legs  down.  Miss  Craydocke,  why  don't  you  go  down 
among  the  freedmen?  You  haven't  half  a  sphere  up 
here.  Nothing  but  Hobb's  Location,  and  the  little 
Hoskinses." 


IO2  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

"  I  can't  organize  and  execute.  Letitia  can.  It's  her 
gift.  I  can't  do  great  things.  I  can  only  just  carry 
round  my  little  cup  of  cold  water." 

"  But  it  gets  so  dreadfully  joggled  in  such  a  place  as 
this !  Don't  we  girls  disturb  you,  Miss  Craydocke  ? 
I  should  think  you'd  be  quieter  in  the  other  wing,  or 
upstairs." 

"  Young  folks  are  apt  to  think  that  old  folks  ought 
to  go  a  story  higher  But  we're  content,  and  they  must 
put  up  with  us,  until  the  proprietor  orders  a  move." 

"  Well,  good-by.  But  if  ever  you  do  smell  smoke  in 
the  night,  you'll  draw  your  bolt  the  first  thing,  won't 
you?" 

This  evening, — upon  which  we  have  offered  you 
your  pass,  reader, — Miss  Craydocke  is  sitting  with  her 
mosquito  bar  up,  and  her  candle  alight,  finishing  some 
pretty  thing  that  daylight  has  not  been  long  enough  for. 
'A  flag  basket  at  her  feet  holds  strips  and  rolls  of  deli 
cate  birch-bark,  carefully  split  into  filmy  thinness, 
and  heaps  of  star-mosses,  cup-mosses,  and  those  thick 
and  crisp  with  clustering  brown  spires,  as  well  as  sheets 
of  lichen  silvery  and  pale  green;  and  on  the  lap-board 
across  her  knees  lies  her  work, — a  graceful  cross  in 
perspective,  put  on  cardboard  in  birch  shaded  from 
faint  buff  to  bistre,  dashed  with  the  detached  lines  that 
seem  to  have  quilted  the  tree-teguments  together. 
Around  the  foot  of  the  cross  rises  a  mound  of  lovely 
moss-work  in  relief,  with  feathery  filaments;  creeping  up 
and  wreathing  about  the  shaft  and  thwart-beam.  Miss 
Craydocke  is  just  dotting  in  some  bits  of  slender  coral- 
headed  stems  among  little  brown  mushrooms  and  chal- 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  103 

ices,  as  there  comes  a  sudden,  imperative  knocking  at 
the  door  of  communication,  or  defence,  between  her 
and  Sin  Saxon. 

"  You  must  just  open  this  time,  if  you  please !  I've 
got  my  arms  full,  and  I  couldn't  come  round." 

Miss  Craydocke  slipped  her  lap-board — work  and  all 
— under  her  bureau,  upon  the  floor,  for  safety;  and 
then,  with  her  quaint,  queer  expression,  in  which  curi 
osity,  pluckiness,  and  a  foretaste  of  amusement  mingled 
so  as  to  drive  out  annoyance,  pushed  back  her  bolt,  and 
presented  herself  to  the  demand  of  her  visitor,  much  as 
an  undaunted  man  might  fling  open  his  door  at  the  call 
of  a  mob. 

Sin  Saxon  stood  there,  in  the  light  of  the  good  lady's 
candle,  making  a  pretty  picture  against  the  dim  back 
ground  of  the  unlighted  room  beyond.  Her  fair  hair 
was  tossed,  and  her  cheeks  flushed ;  her  blue  eyes  bright 
with  sauciness  and  fun.  In  her  hands,  or  across  her 
arms,  rather,  she  held  some  huge,  uncouth  thing,  that 
was  not  to  the  last  degree  dainty-smelling,  either ;  some 
thing  conglomerated  rudely  upon  a  great  crooked  log 
or  branch,  which,  glanced  at  closer,  proved  to  be  a  frag 
ment  of  gray  old  pine.  Sticks  and  roots  and  bark, 
straw  and  grass  and  locks  of  dirty  sheepswool,  made  up 
its  bulk  and  its  untidiness ;  and  this  thing  Sin  held  out 
with  glee,  declaring  she  had  brought  a  real  treasure  to 
add  to  Miss  Craydocke's  collection. 

"  Such  a  chance !  "  she  said,  coming  in.  "  One 
mightn't  have  another  in  a  dozen  years.  I  have  just 
given  Jimmy  Wigley  a  quarter  for  it,  and  he'd  just  all 
but  broken  his  neck  to  get  it.  It's  a  real  crow's 


io4  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

nest.  Corvinus  something-else-us,  I  suppose.  Where 
will  you  have  it.  I'm  going  to  nail  it  up  for  you 
myself.  Won't  it  make  a  nice  contrast  to  the  humming 
bird's?  Over  the  bed,  shall  I?  But  then,  if  it  should 
drop  down  on  your  nose,  you  know !  I  think  the  corner 
over  the  fireplace  will  be  best.  Yes,  we'll  have  it  right 
up  perpendicular,  in  the  angle.  The  branch  twists  a 
little,  you  see,  and  the  nest  will  run  out  with  its  odds 
and  ends  like  an  old  banner.  Might  I  push  up  the 
washstand  to  get  on  to  ?  " 


"  Suppose  you  lay  it  in  the  fireplace  ?  It  will  just 
rest  nicely  across  those  evergreen  boughs,  and — be  in 
the  current  of  ventilation  outward." 

"  Well,  that's  an  idea,  to  be  sure. — Miss  Craydocke ! 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  105 

— Sin  Saxon  says  this  in  a  sudden  inter jectional  way, 
as  if  it  were  with  some  quite  fresh  idea, — "  I'm  certain 
you  play  chess !  " 

"  You're  mistaken.     I  don't." 

"  You  would,  then,  by  intuition.  Your  counter- 
moves  are — so — triumphant.  Why,  it's  really  an  or 
nament  !  "  With  a  little  stress  and  strain  that  made  her 
words  inter  jectional,  she  had  got  it  into  place,  thrust 
ing  one  end  up  the  throat  of  the  chimney,  and  lodging 
the  crotch  that  held  the  nest  upon  the  stems  of  fresh  pine 
that  lay  across  the  andirons ;  and  the  "  odds  and  ends," 
in  safe  position,  and  suggesting  neither  harm  nor  un- 
suitableness,  looked  unique  and  curious,  and  not  so 
ugly. 

"  It's  really  an  ornament !  "  repeated  Sin,  shaking  the 
dust  off  her  dress. 

"  As  you  expected,  of  course,"  replied  Miss  Cray- 
docke. 

"  Well,  I  wasn't — not  to  say — confident.  I  was 
afraid  it  mightn't  be  much  but  scientific.  But  now — 
if  you  don't  forget  and  light  a  fire  under  it  some  day, 
Miss  Craydocke !  " 

"  I  shan't  forget ;  and  I'm  very  much  obliged,  really. 
Perhaps  by  and  by  I  shall  put  it  in  a  rough  box  and 
send  it  to  a  nephew  of  mine,  with  some  other  things, 
for  his  collection." 

"  Goodness,  Miss  Graydocke !  They  won't  express 
it.  They'll  think  it's  an  infernal  machine,  or  a  murder ! 
But  it's  disposed  of  for  the  present,  any  way.  The 
truth  was,  you  know,  twenty-five  cents  is  a  kind  o£ 
cup  of  cold  water  to  Jimmy  Wigley,  and  then  taere 


106  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

was  the  fun  of  bringing  it  in,  and  I  didn't  know  any 
body  but  you  to  offer  it  to ;  I'm  so  glad  you  like  it ;  the 
girls  thought  you  wouldn't.  Perhaps  I  can  get  you  an 
other,  or  something  else  as  curious,  some  day, — a 
moose's  horns,  or  a  bear-skin ;  there's  no  knowing.  But 
now — apropos  of  the  nest — -I've  a  crow  to  pick  with 
you.  You  gave  me  horrible  dreams  all  night,  the  last 
time  I  came  to  see  you.  I  don't  know  whether  it  was 
your  little  freedmen's  meal-bags,  or  Miss  Letitia's  or 
ganizing  and  executive  genius,  or  the  cup  of  cold  water 
you  spoke  of,  or — it's  just  occurred  to  me — the  fuss  I 
had  over  my  waterfall  that  day,  trying  to  make  it  into 
a  melon ;  but  I  had  the  most  extraordinary  time  en 
deavoring  to  pay  you  a  visit.  Down  South,  it  was,  and 
there  you  were,  organizing  and  executing,  after  all,  on 
the  most  tremendous  scale,  some  kind  of  freedmen's  in 
stitution.  You  were  explaining  to  me  and  showing  me 
all  sorts  of  things,  in  such  enormous  bulk  and  extent 
and  number!  First  I  was  to  see  your  stables,  where  the 
cows  were  kept.  A  trillion  of  cows! — that  was  what 
you  told  me.  And  on  the  way  we  went  down  among 
such  wood-piles! — whole  forests  cut  up  into  kindlings 
and  built  into  solid  walls  that  reached  up  till  the  sky 
looked  like  a  thread  of  blue  sewing-silk  between.  And 
presently  we  came  to  a  kind  of  opening  and  turned  off 
to  see  the  laundry  (Mrs.  Lisphin  had  just  brought  home 
my  things  at  bedtime)  ;  and  there  was  a  place  to  do  the 
world's  washing  in,  or  bleach  out  all  the  Ethiopians! 
Tubs  like  the  hold  of  the  Great  Eastern,  and  spouts 
coming  into  them  like  the  Staubbach !  Clothes-lines  like 
a  parade-ground  of  telegraphs,  fields  like  prairies,  snow- 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  107 

patched,  as  far  as  you  could  see,  with  things  laid  out  to 
whiten !  And  suddenly  we  came  to  what  was  like  a  pond 
of  milk,  with  crowds  of  negro  women  stirring  it  with 
long  poles;  and  all  at  once  something  came  roaring  be 
hind  and  you  called  to  me  to  jump  aside, — that  the  hot 
water  was  let  on  to  make  the  starch;  and  down  it 
rushed,  a  cataract  like  Niagara,  in  clouds  of  steam  I 
And  then — well,  it  changed  to  something  else,  I  sup 
pose;  but  it  was  after  that  fashion  all  night  long,  and 
the  last  I  remember,  I  was  trying  to  climb  up  the  Cairn 
with  a  cup  of  cold  water  set  on  atilt  at  the  crown  of  my 
head,  which  I  was  to  get  to  the  sky-parlor  without 
spilling  a  drop! 

"  Nobody's  brain  but  yours  would  have  put  it  to 
gether  like  that,"  said  Miss  Craydocke,  laughing  till 
she  had  to  feel  for  her  pocket-handkerchief  to  wipe  away 
the  tears. 

"  Don't  cry,  Miss  Craydocke,"  said  Sin  Saxon, 
changing  suddenly  to  the  most  touching  tone  and  ex 
pression  of  regretful  concern.  "  I  didn't  mean  to  distress 
you.  I  don't  think  anything  is  really  the  matter  with 
my  brain !  " 

"  But  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,"  she  went  on  presently, 
in  her  old  manner,  "  I  am  in  a  dreadful  way  with  that 
waterfall,  and  I  wish  you'd  lend  me  one  of  your  caps, 
or  advise  me  what  to  do.  It's  an  awful  thing  when  the 
fashion  alters,  just  as  you've  got  used  to  the  last  one. 
You  can't  go  back,  and  you  don't  dare  to  go  forward. 
I  wish  hair  was  like  noses,  born  in  a  shape,  without 
giving  you  any  responsibility.  But  we  do  have  to  finish 
ourselves,  and  that's  just  what  makes  us  restless." 


io8  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

"  You  haven't  come  to  the  worst  yet,"  said  Miss 
Craydocke,  significantly. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  What  is  the  worst  ?  Will  it 
come  all  at  once,  or  will  it  be  broken  to  me  ?  " 

"  It  will  be  broken,  and  that's  the  worst.  One  of 
these  years  you'll  find  a  little  thin  spot  coming,  may  be, 
and  spreading,  over  your  forehead  or  on  the  top  of  your 
head ;  and  it'll  be  the  fashion  to  comb  the  hair  just  so  as 
to  show  it  off,  and  make  it  worse ;  and  for  a  while  that'll 
be  your  thorn  in  the  flesh.  And  then  you'll  begin  to 
wonder  why  the  color  isn't  so  bright  as  it  used  to  be, 
but  looks  dingy,  all  you  can  do  to  it;  and  again,  after  a 
while,  some  day,  in  a  strong  light,  you'll  see  there  are 
white  threads  in  it,  and  the  rest  is  fading;  and  so  by 
degrees,  and  the  degrees  all  separate  pains,  you'll  have 
to  come  to  it  and  give  up  the  crown  of  your  youth,  and 
take  to  scraps  of  lace  and  muslin,  or  a  front,  as  I  did  a 
dozen  years  ago." 

Sin  Saxon  had  no  sauciness  to  give  back  for  that;  it 
made  her  feel  all  at  once  that  this  old  Miss  Craydocke 
had  really  been  a  girl  too,  with  golden  hair  like  her  own, 
perhaps, — and  not  so  very  far  in  the  past  either  but  that 
a  like  space  in  her  own  future  could  picture  itself  to  her 
mind;  and  something,  quite  different  in  her  mood  from 
ordinary,  made  her  say,  with  even  an  unconscious  touch 
of  reverence  in  her  voice, — "  I  wonder  if  I  shall  bear  it, 
when  it  comes,  as  well  as  you !  " 

"  There's  a  recompense,"  said  Miss  Craydocke. 
"  You'll  have  got  it  all  then.  You'll  know  there's 
never  a  fifty  or  a  sixty  years  that  doesn't  hold  the  tens 
and  the  twenties." 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  109 

"  I've  found  out  something,"  said  Sin  Saxon,  as  she 
came  back  to  the  girls  again.  "  A  picked-up  dinner 
argues  a  fresh  one  some  time.  You  can't  have  cold  roast 
mutton  unless  it  has  once  been  hot !  "  And  never  a 
word  more  would  she  say  to  explain  herself. 


no  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 


VIL 

THE  "  little  red "  was  at  the  door  of  the  Green 
Cottage.  Frank  Scherman  had  got  the  refusal  of  it 
the  night  before,  and  early  in  the  morning  Madam 
Routh's  compliments  had  come  to  Mrs.  Linceford,  with 
the  request,  in  all  the  form  that  mountain  usage  de 
manded,  that  she  and  the  young  ladies  would  make  part 
of  the  expedition  for  the  day. 

Captain  Jotham  Green,  host  and  proprietor,  stood 
himself  at  the  horses'  heads.  The  Green  Cottage,  you 
perceive,  had  double  right  to  its  appellation.  It  was 
both  baptismal  and  hereditary,  surname  and  given  name, 
— given  with  a  coat  of  fresh,  pale,  pea-green  paint  that 
had  been  laid  upon  it  within  the  year,  and  had  communi 
cated  a  certain  tender,  newly-sprouted,  May-morning 
expression  to  the  old  centre  and  its  outshoots. 

Mrs.  Green,  within,  was  generously  busy  with  biscuits, 
cold  chicken,  doughnuts  fried  since  sunrise,  and  coffee 
richly  compounded  with  cream  and  sugar,  which  a  great 
tin  can  stood  waiting  to  receive  and  convey,  and  which 
was  at  length  to  serve  as  cooking  utensil  in  reheating 
upon  the  fire  of  coals  the  picknickers  would  make  up 
under  the  very  tassel  of  Feather-Cap. 

The  great  wagons  were  drawn  up  also  before  the 
piazza  of  the  hotel ;  and  between  the  two  houses  flitted  the 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life,  in 

excursionists,  full  of  the  bright  enthusiasm  of  the  setting 
off,  which  is  the  best  part  of  a  jaunt,  invariably. 

Leslie  Goldthwaite,  in  the  hamadryad  costume,  just 
aware — which  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  help — of  its 
exceeding  prettiness,  and  of  glances  that  recognized  it, 
pleased  with  a  mixture  of  pleasures,  was  on  the  surface 
of  things  once  more,  taking  the  delight  of  the  moment 
with  a  young  girl's  innocent  abandonment.  It  was  nice  to 
be  received  so  among  all  these  new  companions;  to  be 
evidently,  though  tacitly,  voted  nice,  in  the  way  girls 
have  of  doing  it;  to  be  launched  at  once  into  the  begin 
ning  of  apparently  exhaustless  delights; — all  this  was 
superadded  to  the  first  and  underlying  joy  of  merely 
being  alive  and  breathing,  this  superb  summer  morning, 
among  these  forests  and  hills. 

Sin  Saxon,  whatever  new  feeling  of  half  sympathy 
and  respect  had  been  touched  in  her  toward  Miss  Cray- 
docke  the  night  before,  in  her  morning  mood  was  all 
alive  again  to  mischief.  The  small,  spare  figure  of  the 
lady  appeared  at  the  side-door,  coming  out  briskly  toward 
them  along  the  passage,  just  as  the  second  wagon  filled 
up  and  was  ready  to  move. 

I  did  not  describe  Miss  Craydocke  herself  when  I  gave 
you  the  glimpse  into  her  room.  There  was  not  much  to 
describe ;  and  I  forgot  it  in  dwelling  upon  her  surround 
ings  and  occupations.  In  fact,  she  extended  herself  into 
these,  and  made  you  take  them  involuntarily  and  largely 
into  the  account  in  your  apprehension  of  her.  Some 
people  seem  to  have  given  them  at  the  outset  a  mere 
germ  of  personality  like  this,  which  must  needs  widen 
itself  out  in  like  fashion  to  be  felt  at  all.  Her  mosaes 


ii2  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

and  minerals,  her  pressed  leaves  and  flowers,  her  odds 
and  ends  of  art  and  science  and  prettiness  which  she 
gathered  about  her,  her  industries  and  benevolences, — 
these  were  herself.  Out  of  these  she  was  only  a  little 
elderly  thread-paper  of  a  woman,  of  no  apparent  account 
among  crowds  of  other  people,  and  with  scarcely  enough 
of  bodily  bulk  or  presence  to  take  any  positive  foothold 
anywhere. 

What  she  might  have  seemed,  in  the  days  when  her 
hair  was  golden,  and  her  little  figure  plump,  and  the 
very  unclassical  features  rounded  and  rosy  with  the 
bloom  and  grace  of  youth,  was  perhaps  another  thing; 
but  now,  with  her  undeniable  "  front,"  and  cheeks 
straightened  into  lines  that  gave  you  the  idea  of  her  hav 
ing  slept  all  night  upon  both  of  them,  and  got  them  into 
longitudinal  wrinkles  that  all  day  was  never  able  to 
wear  out;  above  all,  with  her  curious  little  nose,  (that 
was  the  exact  expression  of  it,)  sharply  and  suddenly 
thrusting  itself  among  things  in  general  from  the  middle 
plane  of  her  face  with  slight  preparatory  hint  of  its 
intention, — you  would  scarcely  charge  her,  upon  sus 
picion,  with  any  embezzlement  or  making  away  of 
charms  intrusted  to  her  keeping  in  the  time  gone  by. 

This  morning,  moreover,  she  had  somehow  given  her 
self  a  scratch  upon  the  tip  of  this  odd,  investigating  mem 
ber;  and  it  blushed  for  its  inquisitiveness  under  a  scrap 
of  thin  pink  adhesive  plaster. 

Sin  Saxon  caught  sight  of  her  as  she  came.  "  Little 
Miss  Netticoat ! "  she  cried,  just  under  her  breath, 
"  With  a  fresh  petticoat,  and  a  red  nose !  " — Then, 
changing  her  tone  with  her  quotation, — 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  113 

"  '  Wee,  modest,  crimson-tipped  flower, 
Thou'st  met  me  in  a  luckless  hour  ! ' 

Thou  always  dost!  What  hast  thou  gone  and  got  thy 
self  up  so  for,  just  as  I  was  almost  persuaded  to  be  good  ? 
Now — can  I  help  that  ?  "  And  she  dropped  her  folded 
hands  in  her  lap,  exhaled  a  little  sigh  of  vanquished 
goodness,  and  looked  round  appealingly  to  her  com 
panions. 

"  It's  only,"  said  Miss  Craydocke,  reaching  them  a 
trifle  out  of  breath,  "  this  little  parcel, — something  I 
promised  to  Prissy  Hoskins, — and  would  you  just  go- 
round  by  the  Cliff  and  leave  it  for  me  ?  " 

"  O,  I'm  afraid  of  the  Cliff !  "  cried  Florrie  Arnall. 
"  Creggin's  horses  backed  there  the  other  day.  It's, 
horribly  dangerous." 

"  It's  three  quarters  of  a  mile  round,"  suggested  the 
driver. 

"  The  '  little  red '  might  take  it.  They'll  go  faster- 
than  we,  or  can,  if  they  try,"  said  Mattie  Shannon. 

"  The  '  little  red '  's  just  ready,"  said  Sin  Saxon. 
"  You  needn't  laugh.  That  wasn't  a  pun.  But  O 
Miss  Craydocke !  " — and  her  tone  suggested  the  mis 
chievous  apropos, — "  what  can  you  have  been  doing  to. 
your  nose  ? " 

"  O  yes !  " — Miss  Craydocke  had  a  way  of  saying 
"  O  yes !  " — "  It  was  my  knife  slipped  as  I  was  cutting 
a  bit  of  cord,  in  a  silly  fashion,  up  toward  my  face.  It's 
a  mercy  my  nose  served  to  save  my  eyes." 

"  I  suppose  that's  partly  what  noses  are  for,"  said  Sm 
Saxon,  gravely.  "  Especially  when  you  follow  themr 
and  <  go  it  blind.'  " 


114  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

"  It  was  a  piece  of  good  luck,  too,  after  all,"  said  Miss 
Craydocke,  in  her  simple  way,  never  knowing,  or  choos 
ing  to  know,  that  she  was  snubbed  or  quizzed.  "  Look 
ing  for  a  bit  of  plaster,  I  found  my  little  parcel  of  traga- 
•canth  that  I  wanted  so  the  other  day.  It's  queer  how 
"things  turn  up." 

"  Excessively  queer,"  said  Sin,  solemnly,  still  looking 
-at  the  injured  feature.  "  But  as  you  say,  it's  all  for  the 
best,  after  all.  '  There  is  a  divinity  that  shapes  our  ends, 
rough-hew  them  how  we  will.'  Hiram,  we  might  as 
well  drive  on.  I'll  take  the  parcel,  Miss  Craydocke. 
We'll  get  it  there  somehow,  going  or  coming." 

The  wagon  rolled  off,  veils  and  feathers  taking  the 
wind  bravely,  and  making  a  gay  moving  picture  against 
the  dark  pines  and  gray  ledges  as  it  glanced  along.  Sin 
Saxon  tossed  Miss  Craydocke's  parcel  into  the  "  little 
red  "  as  they  passed  it  by,  taking  the  road  in  advance, 
giving  a  saucy  word  of  command  to  Jim  Holden,  which 
transferred  the  charge  of  its  delivery  to  him,  and  calling 
out  a  hurried  explanation  to  the  ladies  over  her  shoulder 
that  "  it  would  take  them  round  the  Cliff, — the  most 
wonderful  point  in  ail  Outledge ;  up  and  down  the  whole 
length  of  New  Hampshire  they  could  see  from  there,  if 
their  eyes  were  good  enough !  "  And  so  they  were  away. 

Miss  Craydocke  turned  back  into  the  house,  not  a  whit 
discomfited,  and  with  not  so  much  as  a  contrasting  sigh 
in  her  bosom  or  a  rankle  in  her  heart.  On  the  contrary, 
a  droll  twinkle  played  among  the  crow's-feet  at  the  cor 
ners  of  her  eyes.  They  eould  not  hurt  her,  these  merry 
.girls,  meaning  nothing  but  the  moment's  fun,  nor  cheat 
her  of  her  quiet  share  oi  the  fun  either. 


• 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  115 

Up  above,  out  of  a  window  over  the  piazza  roof,  looked 
two  others,  young  girls, — one  of  them  at  least, — also, 
upon  the  scene  of  the  setting-off. 

I  cannot  help  it  that  a  good  many  different  people 
will  get  into  my  short  story.  They  get  into  a  short 
time,  in  such  a  summer  holiday,  and  so  why  not  ?  At 
any  rate,  I  must  tell  you  about  these  Josselyns. 

These  two  had  never  in  all  their  lives  been  away  pleas 
uring  before.  They  had  nobody  but  each  other  to  come 
with  now.  Susan  had  been  away  a  good  deal  in  the  last 
two  years,  but  it  had  not  been  pleasuring.  Martha  was 
some  five  or  six  years  the  younger.  She  had  a  pretty 
face,  yet  marked,  as  it  is  so  sad  to  see  the  faces  of  the 
young,  with  lines  and  loss, — lines  that  tell  of  cares  too 
early  felt,  and  loss  of  the  first  fresh,  redundant  bloom, 
that  such  lines  bring. 

They  sat  a  great  deal  at  this  window  of  theirs.  It 
was  a  sort  of  instinct  and  habit  with  them,  and  it  made 
them  happier  than  almost  anything  else, — sitting  at  a 
window  together.  It  was  home  to  them,  because  at  home 
they .  lived  so, — life  and  duty  were  so  framed  in  for 
them, — in  one  dear,  old  window-recess.  Sometimes  they 
thought  that  it  would  be  heaven  to  them  by  and  by. 
That  such  a  seat,  and  such  a  quiet,  happy  outlook  they 
should  find  kept  for  them  together,  in  the  Father's 
mansion,  up  above. 

At  home,  it  was  up  three  flights  of  stairs,  in  a  tall, 
narrow  city  house,  of  which  the  lower  floors  overflowed 
with  young,  boisterous  half  brothers  and  sisters, — the  tide 
not  seldom  rising  and  inundating  their  own  retreat, — 
whose  delicate  mother,  not  more  than  eight  years  older 


n6  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

than  her  eldest  step-daughter,  was  tied  hand  and  foot  to 
her  nursery,  with  a  baby  on  her  lap,  and  the  two  or  three 
next  above  with  hands  always  to  be  washed,  disputes  and 
amusements  always  to  be  settled,  small  morals  to  be 
enforced,  and  clean  calico  tyers  to  be  incessantly  put  on. 

And  Susan  and  Martha  sat  upstairs  and  made  the 
tyers. 

Mr.  Josselyn  was  a  book-keeper,  with  a  salary  of  eigh 
teen  hundred  dollars,  and  these  seven  children.  And 
Susan  and  Martha  were  girls  of  fair  culture,  and  wom 
anly  tastes,  and  social  longings.  How  does  this  seem  to 
you,  young  ladies,  and  what  do  you  think  of  their  up 
stairs  life  together,  you  who  calculate,  if  you  calculate 
at  all,  whether  five  hundred  dollars  may  carry  you  re 
spectably  through  your  half-dozen  city  assemblies,  where 
you  shine  in  silk  and  gossamer,  of  which  there  will  not 
be  "  a  dress  in  the  room  that  cost  less  than  seventy-five 
dollars,"  and  come  home,  after  the  dance,  "  a  perfect 
rag  "  ? 

Two  years  ago,  when  you  were  perhaps  performing  in 
tableaux  for  the  "  benefit  of  the  Sanitary,"  these  two 
girls  had  felt  the  great  enthusiasm  of  the  time  lay  hold 
of  them  in  a  larger  way.  Susan  had  a  friend — a  dear 
old  intimate  of  school-days,  now  a  staid  woman  of  eight- 
and-twenty — who  was  to  go  out  in  yet  maturer  com 
panionship  into  the  hospitals.  And  Susan's  heart  burned 
to  go.  But  there  were  all  the  little  tyers,  and  the 
A  B  C's,  and  the  faces  and  fingers. 

"  I  can  do  it  for  a  while,"  said  Martha,  "  without 
you."  Those  two  words  held  the  sacrifice.  "  Mamma  is 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  117 

so  nicely  this  summer,  and  by  and  by  Aunt  Lucy  may 
come,  perhaps.  I  can  do  quite  well." 

So  Martha  sat,  for  months  and  months,  in  the  up 
stairs  window  alone.  There  were  martial  marchings  in 
the  streets  beneath ;  great  guns  thundered  out  rejoicings ; 
flags  filled  the  air  with  crimson  and  blue,  like  an  aurora ; 
she  only  sat  and  made  little  frocks  and  tyers  for  the 
brothers  and  sisters.  God  knew  how  every  patient 
needle-thrust  was  really  also  a  woman's  blow  for  her 
country. 

And  now,  pale  and  thin  with  close,  lonely  work,  the 
time  had  come  to  her  at  last  when  it  was  right  to  take  a 
respite;  when  everybody  said  it  must  be;  when  Uncle 
David,  just  home  from  Japan,  had  put  his  hand  in  his 
pocket  and  pulled  out  three  new  fifty-dollar  bills,  and 
said  to  them  in  his  rough  way,  "  There,  girls ;  take  that, 
and  go  your  lengths."  The  war  was  over,  and  among  all 
the  rest  here  were  these  two  women-soldiers  honorably 
discharged,  and  resting  after  the  fight.  But  nobody  at 
Outledge  knew  anything  of  the  story. 

There  is  almost  always  at  every  summer  sojourn  some 
party  of  persons  who  are  to  the  rest  what  the  mid-current 
is  to  the  stream ;  who  gather  to  themselves  and  bear  along 
in  their  course — in  their  plans  and  pleasures  and  daily 
doings — the  force  of  all  the  life  of  the  place.  If  any 
expedition  of  consequence  is  afoot,  they  are  the  expedi 
tion  ;  others  may  join  in,  or  hold  aloof,  or  be  passed  by ; 
in  which  last  cases,  it  is  only  in  a  feeble,  rippling  fashion 
that  they  go  their  ways  and  seek  some  separate  pleasure 
in  by-nooks  and  eddies,  while  the  gay  hum  of  the  main 
channel  goes  whirling  on.  At  Outledge,  this  party  waa 


n8  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

the  large  and  merry  school-girl  company  with  Madam 
Routh. 

"  I  don't  see  why,"  said  Martha  Josselyn,  still  looking 
out,  as  the  "  little  red  "  left  the  door  of  the  Green  Cot 
tage, — "  I  don't  see  why  those  new  girls  who  came  last 
night  should  have  got  into  everything  in  a  minute,  and 
we've  been  here  a  week  and  don't  seem  to  catch  to  any 
thing  at  all.  Some  people  are  like  burs,  I  think,  or  drops 
of  quicksilver,  that  always  bunch  or  run  together.  We 
don't  stick,  Susie.  What's  the  reason  ?  " 

"  Some  of  these  young  ladies  have  been  at  Madam 
Routh's;  they  were  over  here  last  evening.  Sin  Saxon 
knows  them  very  well." 

"  You  knew  Erne  Saxon  at  school,  too." 

"  Eight  years  ago.  And  this  is  the  little  one.  That's 
nothing." 

"  You  petted  her,  and  she  came  to  the  house.  You've 
told  her  stories  hundreds  of  times.  And  she  sees  we're 
all  by  ourselves." 

"  She  don't  see.  She  doesn't  think.  That's  just  the 
whole  of  it." 

"  People  ought  to  see,  then.  You  would,  Sue,  and 
you  know  it." 

"  I've  been  used  to  seeing — and  thinking." 

"  Used !  Yes,  indeed !  And  she's  been  used  to  the 
other.  Well,  it's  queer  how  the  parts  are  given  out. 
Shall  we  go  to  the  pines  ?  " 

'A  great  cliff-side  rearing  itself  up,  rough  with  in 
accessible  crags,  bristling  with  old,  ragged  pines,  and 
dark  with  glooms  of  close  cedars  and  hemlocks,  above  a 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  119* 

jutting  table  of  rock  that  reaches  out  and  makes  a  huge 
semicircular  base  for  the  mountain,  and  is  in  itself  a 
precipice-pedestal  eighty  feet  sheer  up  from  the  river- 
bank.  Close  in  against  the  hill-front,  on  this  platform 
of  stone,  that  holds  its  foot  or  two  of  soil,  a  little,  poor, 
unshingled  house,  with  a  tumble-down  picket-fence  about 
it,  attempting  the  indispensable  door-yard  of  all  better 
country-dwellings  here  where  the  great  natural  door- 
yard  or  esplanade  makes  it  such  an  utter  nonsense.  This 
is  the  place  at  which  the  "  little  red "  drew  up,  ten 
minutes  later,  to  leave  Prissy  Hoskins's  parcel. 

Dakie  Thayne  jumped  down  off  the  front  seat,  and 
held  up  his  arms  to  help  Leslie  out  over  the  wheel,  upon 
her  declaring  that  she  must  go  and  do  the  errand  herself, 
to  get  a  nearer  look  at  Hoskins  life. 

Dakie  Thayne  had  been  asked,  at  Leslie's  suggestion, 
to  fill  the  vacant  sixth  seat  beside  the  driver,  the 
Thoresbys  one  and  all  declining.  Mrs.  Thoresby  was 
politic:  she  would  not  fall  into  the  wake  of  this  school 
girl  party  at  once.  By  and  by  she  should  be  making  up 
her  own  excursions,  and  asking  whom  she  would. 

"  There's  nothing  like  a  boy  of  that  age  for  use  upon. 
a  picnic,  Mrs.  Linceford,"  Leslie  had  pleaded,  with, 
playful  parody,  in  his  behalf,  when  the  lady  had  hinted 
something  of  her  former  sentiment  concerning  the  en 
croachments  and  monopolies  of  "  boys  of  that  age." 
And  so  he  came. 

The  Haddens  got  Jim  Holden  to  lift  them  down  on 
the  opposite  side,  for  a  run  to  the  verge  of  the  projecting 
half-circle  of  rock  that,  like  a  gigantic  bay-window  or 
balcony  in  the  mighty  architecture  of  the  hills,  looked 


I2O  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

lap  and  down  the  whole  perspective  of  the  valley.  Jim 
Holden  would  readily  have  driven  them  round  its  very 
edge  upon  the  flat,  mossy  sward,  but  for  Mrs.  Lince- 
ford's  nerves,  and  the  vague  idea  of  almost  an  accident 
having  occurred  there  lately  which  pervaded  the  little 
party.  "  Creggin's  horses  had  backed,"  as  Florrie  Ar- 
nall  said;  and  already  the  new-comers  had  picked  up, 


they  scarcely  knew  how,  the  incipient  tradition,  here 
after  to  grow  into  an  established  horror  of  the  "  Cliff." 
"  It  was  nothing,"  Jim  Holden  said ;  "  only  the  nigh 
horse  was  a  res'less  crittur,  an'  contrived  to  git  his  leg 
over  the  pole;  no  danger  with  his  cattle."  But  Mrs. 
Xinceford  cried  out  in  utter  remonstrance,  and  only 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  121 

begged  Leslie  to  be  quick,  that  they  might  get  away 
from  the  place  altogether. 

All  this  bustle  of  arrival  and  discussion  and  alight 
ing  had  failed,  curiously,  to  turn  the  head  of  an  odd, 
unkempt-looking  child,  a  girl  of  nine  or  ten,  with  an  old 
calico  sun-bonnet  flung  back  upon  her  shoulders, — 
tangled,  sun-burnt  hair  tossing  above  it, — gown,  inno 
cent  of  crinoline,  clinging  to  lank,  growing  limbs, — and 
bare  feet,  whose  heels  were  energetically  planted  at  a 
quite  safe  distance  from  each  other,  to  insure  a  fair 
base  for  the  centre  of  gravity, — who,  at  the  moment  of 
their  coming,  was  wrathfully  "  shoo-ing  "  off  from  a  bit 
of  rude  toy-garden,  fenced  with  ends  of  twigs  stuck  up 
right,  a  tall  Shanghai  hen  and  her  one  chicken,  who  had 
evidently  made  nothing,  morally  or  physically,  of  the 
feeble  enclosure. 

"  I  wish  you  were  dead  and  in  your  grav-ies !  "  cried 
the  child,  achieving,  between  her  righteous  indignation 
and  her  relenting  toward  her  uncouth  pets  at  the  last 
breath,  a  sufficiently  queer  play  upon  her  own  word. 
And  with  this,  the  enemy  being  routed,  she  turned  face 
to  face  with  Dakie  Thayne  and  Leslie  Goldthwaite, 
coming  in  at  the  dilapidated  gate. 

"  They've  scratched  up  all  my  four-o'clocks !  "  she 
said.  And  then  her  rustic  shyness  overcame  suddenly 
all  else,  and  she  dragged  her  great  toe  back  and  forth  in 
the  soft  mould,  and  put  her  forefinger  in  her  mouth,  and 
looked  askance  at  them  from  the  corners  of  her  eyes. 

"  Prissy  ?  Prissy  Hoskins  \  "  Leslie  addressed  her 
in  sweet,  inquiring  tones.  But  the  child  stood  still  with 
finger  in  mouth,  and  toe  working  in  the  ground,  not  a 


122  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

bit  harder  nor  faster,  nor  changing  in  the  least,  for  more 
or  less,  the  shy  look  in  her  face. 

"  That's  your  name,  isn't  it  ?  I've  got  something  for 
you.  Won't  you  come  and  get  it  ? "  Leslie  paused, 
waiting, — fearing  lest  a  further  advance  on  her  own 
part  might  put  Prissy  altogether  to  flight.  Nothing 
answered  in  the  girl's  eyes  to  her  words;  there  was  no 
lighting  up  of  desire  or  curiosity,  however  restrained; 
she  stood  like  one  indifferent  or  uncomprehending. 

"  She's  awful  deef !  "  cried  a  new  voice  from  the 
door-way.  "  She  ain't  that  scared.  She's  sarcy  enough, 
sometimes." 

A  woman,  middle-aged  or  more,  stood  on  the  rough, 
slanting  door-stone.  She  had  bare  feet,  in  coarse  calf 
skin  slippers,  stringy  petticoats  differing  only  from  the 
child's  in  .length,  sleeves  rolled  up  to  the  shoulders,  no 
neck  garniture, — not  a  bit  of  anything  white  about  her. 
Over  all  looked  forth  a  face  sharp  and  hard,  that  might 
have  once  been  good-looking,  in  a  raw,  country  fashion, 
and  that  had  undoubtedly  always  been,  what  it  now 
was,  emphatically  Yankee-smart.  An  inch-wide  strip 
of  black  hair  was  combed  each  way  over  her  forehead, 
and  rolled  up  on  her  temples  in  what,  years  and  years 
ago,  used  to  be  called  most  appropriately  "  flat  curls," — 
these  fastened  with  long  horn  sidecombs.  Beyond  was 
a  strip  of  desert, — no  hair  at  all  for  an  inch  and  a  half 
more  toward  the  crown;  the  rest  dragged  back  and  tied 
behind  with  the  relentless  tightness  that  gradually  and 
regularly,  by  the  persistence  of  years,  had  accomplished 
this  peculiar  belt  of  clearing.  It  completed  her  ex 
pression;  it  was  as  a  very  halo  of  Yankee  saintship 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  123 

crowning  the  woman  who  in  despite  of  poverty  and  every 
discouragement  had  always  hated,  to  the  very  roots  of 
her  hair,  anything  like  what  she  called  a  "  sozzle," — 
who  had  always  been  screwed  up  and  sharp  set  to  hard 
work.  She  couldn't  help  the  tumble-down  fence ;  she  had 
no  "  men-folks  "  round ;  and  she  couldn't  have  paid  for 
a  hundred  pickets  and  a  day's  carpentering,  to  have 
saved  her  life.  She  couldn't  help  Prissy's  hair  even; 
for  it  would  kink  and  curl,  and  the  minute  the  wind 
took  it  "  there  it  was  again  " ;  and  it  was  not  time  yet, 
thank  goodness !  to  harrow  it  back  and  begin  in  her  be 
half  the  remarkable  engineering  which  had  laid  out  for 
herself  that  broad  highway  across  all  the  thrifty  and 
energetic  bumps  up  to  Veneration,  (who  knows  how 
much  it  had  had  to  do  with  mixing  them  in  one  common 
tingle  of  mutual  and  unceasing  activity?)  and  down 
again  from  ear  to  ear.  Inside  the  poor  little  house  you 
would  find  all  spick  and  span;  the  old  floor  white  and 
sanded,  the  few  tins  and  the  pewter  spoons  shining  upon 
the  shelf,  the  brick  hearth  and  jambs  aglow  with  fresh 
"  redding,"  table  and  chairs  set  back  in  rectangular  tidi 
ness.  Only  one  thing  made  a  litter,  or  tried  to;  a 
yellow  canary  that  hung  in  the  window  and  sang  "  like 
a  house  afire,"  as  Aunt  Hoskins  said,  however  that  is, 
and  flung  his  seeds  about  like  the  old  "  Wash  at  Ed 
monton  "  "  on  both  sides  of  the  way."  Prissy  was 
turned  out  of  doors  in  all  pleasant  weather;  so  other 
wise  the  keeping-room  stayed  trim,  and  her  curly  hair 
grew  sunburnt. 

"  She's  ben  deef  ever  sence  she  hed  the  scarlet-fever. 
Walk  in,"  said  the  woman,  by  no  means  satisfied  to  let 


124  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

strangers  get  only  the  outside  impression  of  her  premises, 
and  turning  round  to  lead  the  way  without  waiting  for 
a  reply.  "  Come  in,  Prissy !  "  she  bawled,  illustrating 
her  summons  with  what  might  be  called  a  beckoning  in 
broad  capitals,  done  with  the  whole  arm  from  finger-tips 
to  shoulder,  twice  or  thrice. 

Leslie  followed  over  the  threshold,  and  Prissy  ran  by 
like  a  squirrel,  and  perched  herself  on  a  stool  just  under 
the  bird-cage. 

"  I  wouldn't  keep  it  if't  warn't  for  her,"  said  Aunt 
Hoskins,  apologetically.  She  was  Prissy's  aunt,  holding 
no  other  close  domestic  relation  to  living  thing,  and  so 
had  come  to  be  "  Aunt  Hoskins  "  in  the  whole  region 
round  about,  so  far  as  she  was  known  at  all.  "  It's  the 
only  bird  she  can  hear  sing  of  a  morning.  It's  as  good 
as  all  out-doors  to  her,  and  I  hain't  the  heart  to  make 
her  do  without  it.  I've  done  without  most  things,  but 
it  don't  appear  to  me  as  if  I  could  do  without  them. 
Take  a  seat,  do." 

"  I  thank  you,  but  my  friends  are  waiting.  I've 
brought  something  for  Prissy,  from  Miss  Craydocke  at 
the  hotel."  And  Leslie  held  out  the  package  which 
Dakie  Thayne,  waiting  at  the  door,  had  put  into  her 
hand  as  she  came  in. 

"  Lawful  suz !  Prissy !  if't  ain't  another  book !  "  cried 
the  good  woman,  as  Prissy,  quick  to  divine  the  meaning 
of  the  parcel,  the  like  of  which  she  had  been  made  accus 
tomed  to  before,  sprang  to  her  aunt's  side  within  hearing 
of  her  exclamation.  "  If  she  ain't  jest  the  feelingest 
and  thoughtfullest —  Well!  open  it  yourself,  child; 
there's  no  good  of  a  bundle  if  you  don't." 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life  125 

Poor  Prissy  was  thus  far  happy  that  she  had  not  been 
left  in  the  providence  of  her  little  life  to  utter  ignorance 
of  this  greatest  possible  delight — a  common  one  to  more 
outwardly  favored  children — of  a  real  parcel  all  one's 
own.  The  book,  without  the  brown  paper  and  string, 
would  have  been  as  nothing,  comparatively. 

Leslie  could  not  but  linger  to  see  it  untied.  There 
came  out  a  book, — a  wonderful  big  book, — Grimm's 
Tales;  and  some  little  papers  fell  to  the  floor.  These 
were  flower-seeds, — bags  labelled  "  Petunia,"  "  Candy 
tuft,"  "  Double  Balsam,"  "  Portulaca." 

"  Why,  Prissy !  "  shouted  Miss  Hoskins  in  her  ear  as 
she  picked  them  up,  and  read  the  names ;  "  them's  ele 
gant  things!  They'll  beat  your  four-o'clocks  all  to 
nothin'.  It's  lucky  the  old  Shank-high  did  make  a 
clearin'  of  'em.  Tell  Miss  Craydocke,"  she  continued, 
turning  again  to  Leslie,  "that  I'm  comin'  down  myself, 
to — no,  I  can't  thank  her!  She's  made  a  life  for  that 
air  child,  out  o'  nothin',  a'most !  " 

Leslie  stood  hushed  and  penetrated  in  the  presence" of 
this  good  deed,  and  the  joy  and  gratitude  born  of  it. 

"  This  ain't  all,  you  see ;  nor  'tain't  nothin'  new. 
She's  ben  at  it  these  two  year ;  learnin'  the  child  to  read, 
an'  tellin'  her  things,  ^n'  settin'  her  to  hunt  'em  out,  and 
to  do  for  herself.  She  was  crazy  about  flowers,  allers, 
an'  stories;  but,  lor,  I  couldn't  stop  to  tell  'em  to  her, 
an'  I  never  knew  but  one  or  two ;  an'  now  she  can  read 
'em  off  to  me,  like  a  minister.  She's  told  her  a  lot  o' 
stuff  about  the  rocks, — I  can't  make  head  nor  tail  on't ; 
but  it  'ud  please  you  to  see  her  fetchin'  'em  in  by  the 
apern-full,  an'  goin'  on  about  'em,  that  is,  if  there  was 


126  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

reely  any  place  to  put  'em  afterwards.  That's  the  wust 
on't  I  tell  you,  it  is  jest  makin'  a  life  out  o'  pieces  that 
come  to  hand.  Here's  the  girl,  an'  there's  the  woods  an' 
rocks;  there's  all  there  was  to  do  with,  or  likely  to  be; 
but  she  found  the  gumption  an'  the  willingness,  an'  she's 
done  it !  " 

Prissy  came  close  over  to  Leslie  with  .her  book  in  her 
hi^d.  "  Wait  a  minute,"  she  said,  with  the  effort  in 
her  tone  peculiar  to  the  deaf.  "  I've  got  something  to 
send  back." 

"  //  it's  convenient,  you  mean,"  put  in  Aunt  Hos- 
kins,  sharply.  "  She's  as  blunt  as  a  broomstick — that 
child  is." 

But  Prissy  had  sprung  away  in  her  squirrel-like 
fashion,  and  now  came  back,  bringing  with  her  some 
thing  really  to  make  one's  eyes  water,  if  one  happened, 
at  least,  to  be  ever  so  little  of  a  geologist, — a  mass  of 
quartz  rock  as  large  as  she  could  grasp  with  her  two 
hands,  shot  through  at  three  different  angles  with  three 
long,  superb,  columnar  crystals  of  clear,  pale-green  beryl. 
If  Professor  Dana  had  known  this  exact  locality,  and  a 
more  definite  name  for  the  "  Cliff,"  wouldn't  he  have 
had  it  down  in  his  Supplement  with  half  a  dozen  ex 
clamation-points  after  the  "  beryl  "  ! 

"  I  found  it  a-purpose !  "  said  Prissy,  with  the  ut 
most  simplicity,  putting  the  heavy  specimen  out  of  her 
own  hands  into  Leslie's.  "  She's  been  a-wantin'  it  this 
great  while,  and  we've  looked  for  it  everywheres !  " 

"  A-purpose  "  it  did  seem  as  if  the  magnificent  frag 
ment  had  been  laid  in  the  way  of  the  child's  zealous  and 
grateful  search.  "  There  were  only  the  rocks,"  as  Aunt 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  127 

Hoskins  said;  in  no  other  way  could  she  so  joyously 
have  acknowledged  the  kindness  that  had  brightened  now 
three  summers  of  her  life. 

"  It'll  bother  you,  I'm  afeard,"  said  the  woman. 

"  No,  indeed !  I  shall  like  to  take  it  for  you,"  con 
tinued  Leslie,  with  a  warm  earnestness,  stooping  down 
to  the  little  girl,  and  speaking  in  her  clear,  glad  tone 
close  to  her  cheek.  "  I  only  wish  /  could  find  something 
to  take  her  myself."  And  with  that,  close  to  the  little 
red-brown  cheek  as  she  was,  she  put  the  period  of  a 
quick  kiss  to  her  words. 

"  Come  again,  and  we'll  hunt  for  some  together,"  said 
the  child,  with  instant  response  of  cordiality. 

"  I  will  come — if  I  possibly  can,"  was  Leslie's  last 
word,  and  then  she  and  Dakie  Thayne  hurried  back  to 
the  wagon. 

The  Haddens  had  just  got  in  again  upon  their  side. 
They  were  full  of  exclamations  about  the  wonderful 
view  up  and  down  the  long  valley-reaches. 

"  You  needn't  tell  me!  "  cried  Elinor,  in  high  enthu 
siasm.  "  I  don't  care  a  bit  for  the  geography  of  it. 
That  great  aisle  goes  straight  from  Lake  Umbagog  to  the 
Sound!" 

"  It  is  a  glorious  picture,"  said  Mrs.  Linceford. 
"  But  I've  had  a  little  one,  that  you've  lost.  You've 
no  idea,  Leslie,  what  a  lovely  tableau  you  have  been 
making, — you  and  Dakie,  with  that  old  woman  and  the 
blowsy  child !  " 

Leslie  blushed. 

"  You'll  never  look  prettier,  if  you  try  ever  so  hard." 

"  Don't,  Mrs.  Linceford!  " 


128  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

"  "Why  not  ? "  said  Jeannie.  "  It's  only  a  pity,  I 
think,  that  you  couldn't  have  known  it  at  the  time. 
They  say  we  don't  know  when  we're  happiest;  and  we 
can't  know  when  we're  prettiest;  so  where's  the  satis 
faction  ?  " 

"  That's  part  of  your  mistake,  Jeannie,  perhaps," 
returned  her  sister.  "  If  you  had  been  there  you'd  have 
spoiled  the  picture." 

"  Look  at  that ! "  exclaimed  Leslie,  showing  her 
beryl.  "  That's  for  Miss  Craydocke."  And  then,  when 
the  first  utterances  of  amazement  and  admiration  were 
over,  she  told  them  the  story  of  the  child,  and  her 
misfortune,  and  of  what  Miss  Craydocke  had  done. 
"  That's  beautiful,  I  think,"  said  she.  "  And  it's  the 
sort  of  beauty,  may  be,  that  one  might  feel  as  one  went 
along.  I  wish  I  could  find — a  diamond — for  that 
woman !  " 

"  Thir  garnits  on  Feather-Cap,"  put  in  Jim  the 
driver. 

"  O,  will  you  show  us  where  ?  " 

"  Well,  'tain't  nowhers  in  partickler,"  replied  Jim. 
"  It's  jest  as  you  light  on  'em.  And  you  wouldn't  know 
the  best  ones  when  you  did.  I've  seen  'em, — dead,  dull- 
lookin'  round  stones  that'll  crack  open  chock  full  o'  red 
garnits,  as  an  egg  is  o'  meat." 

"  Geodes !  "  cried  Dakie  Thayne. 

Jim  Holden  turned  round  and  looked  at  him  as  if  he 
thought  he  had  got  hold  of  some  new-fashioned  expletive, 
— possibly  a  pretty  hard  one. 

They  came  down,  now,  on  the  other  side  of  the  Cliff, 
and  struck  the  ford.  This  diverted  and  absorbed  their 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.   129 

thouglg,  for  none  of  the  ladies  had  ever  forded  a  river 
before. 

"  Ar,  you  sure  it's  safe  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Linceford. 

"  Saf<  as  meetin',  "  returned  Jim.  "  I'd  drive  across 
with  my  eyes  shot." 

"O,  dn't!"  cried  Elinor. 

"  I  ain  agoin'  ter ;  but  I  could, — an'  the  hosses  too, 
for  that  to.tter." 

It  wa^e:citing,  nevertheless,  when  the  water  in  mid- 
channel  c\ne  up  nearly  to  the  body  of  the  wagon,  and 
the  swift  rWles  deluded  the  eye  into  almost  conviction 
that  horses,  yhicle,  and  all  were  gaining  not  an  inch  in 
forward  prog^ss,  but  drifting  surely  down.  They  came 
up  out  of  the\J.eoths,  however,  with  a  tug,  and  a  swash, 
and  a  drip  allWer,  and  a  scrambling  of  hoofs  on  the 
pebbles,  at  the  Very  point  aimed  at  in  such  apparently 
sidelong  fashion,Wthe  wheel-track  that  led  them  up  the 
bank  and  into  tf\e  ten-mile  pine-woods  through  which 
they  were  to  skirt  tie  base  of  the  Cairn  and  reach  Feath 
er-Cap  on  his  acceasble  side.  It  was  one  long  fragrance 
and  stillness  and  shdow. 

They  overtook  th»  Routh  party  at  the  beginning  of 
the  mountain-path.  The  pine-woods  stretched  on  over 
the  gradual  slope,  as  mr  as  they  would  climb  before  din 
ner.  Otherwise  the  nidday  heats  would  have  been  too 
much  for  them.  Tiis  \vas  the  easy  part  of  the  way,  and 
there  was  breath  for  chat  and  merriment. 

Just  within  the  upper  edge  of  the  woods,  in  a  com 
paratively  smooth  opening,  they  halted.  Here  they 
spread  their  picnic;  while  up  above,  on  the  bare,  open 
rock,  the  young  men  kindled  their  fire,  and  heated  the 


130  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  L/e. 

coffee;  and  here  they  ate  and  drank,  and  rested  I/rough 
the  noontide. 

Light  clouds  flitted  between  the  mountains  pd  the 
heavens,  later  in  the  day,  and  flung  bewildering/dreamy 
shadows  on  the  far-off  steeps,  and  dropped  a/gracious 
veil  over  the  bald  forehead  and  sun-bleak  sh/ilders  of 
leather-Cap.  It  was  "  weather  just  made  pr  them," 
as  fortunate  excursionists  are  wont  to  say.  / 

Sin  Saxon  was  all  life,  and  spring,  ana  fun.  She 
climbed  at  least  three  Feather-Caps,  dancing -rorn  stone 
to  stone  with  tireless  feet,  and  bounding  W&  and  forth 
with  every  gay  word  that  it  occurred  t</  ier  to  say- to 
anybody.  Pictures?  She  made  them  i^ssantly.  She 
was  a  living  dissolving  view.  You  ntf  sooner  got  one 
bright  look  or  graceful  attitude  than  ijf  was  straightway 
shifted  into  another.  She  kept  FranWScherman  at  her 
side  for  the  first  half-hour,  and  theri  perhaps,  his  ad 
miration  or  his  muscles  tired,  for  h/  fell  back  a  little 
to  help  Madam  Routh  up  a  sudde/  ridge,  and  after 
wards,  somehow,  merged  himself  in  pe  quieter  group  of 
strangers. 

By  and  by  one  of  the  Arnalls  I'hispered  to  Mattie 
Shannon.  "  He's  sidled  off  with  lir,  at  last.  Did  you 
ever  know  such  a  fellow  for  a  new  /ace  ?  But  it's  partly 
the  petticoat.  He's  such  an  artisf s  eye  for  color.  He 
was  raving  about  her  all  the  vrhtit  she  stood  hanging 
those  shawls  among  the  pines  to  keep  the  wind  from  Mrs. 
Linceford.  She  isn't  downright  pretty  either.  But 
she's  got  up  exquisitely  1  " 

Leslie  Goldthwaite,  in  her  lovely  mountain-dress,  her 
bright  bloom  from  enjoyment  and  exercise,  with  the 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  131 

stray  light  through  the  pines  burnishing  the  bronze  of 
her  hair,  had  innocently  made  a  second  picture,  it  would 
seem.  One  such  effects  deeper  impression,  sometimes, 
than  the  confusing  splendor  of  incessant  changes. 

"  Are  you  looking  for  something  ?  Can  I  help  you  ?  " 
Frank  Scherman  had  said,  coming  up  to  her,  as  she  and 
her  friend  Dakie,  a  little  apart  from  the  others,  were 
poking  among  some  loose  pebbles. 

"  Nothing  that  I  have  lost,"  Leslie  answered,  smil 
ing.  "  Something  I  have  a  very  presumptuous  wish  to 
find.  A  splendid  garnet  geode,  if  you  please !  " 

"  That's  not  at  all  impossible,"  returned  the  young 
man.  "  We'll  have  it  before  we  go  down, — see  if  we 
don't!" 

Frank  Scherman  knew  a  good  deal  about  Feather- 
Cap,  and  something  of  geologizing.  So  he  and  Leslie — 
Dakie  Thayne,  in  his  unswerving  devotion,  still  accom 
panying — "  sidled  off  "  together,  took  a  long  turn  round 
under  the  crest,  talking  very  pleasantly — and  restfully, 
after  Sin  Saxon's  continuous  brilliancy — all  the  way. 
How  they  searched  among  loose  drift  under  the  cliff, — 
how  Mr.  Scherman  improvised  a  hammer  from  a  slice 
of  rock, — and  how,  after  many  imperfect  specimens, 
they  did  at  last  "  find  a-purpose  "  an  irregular  oval  of 
dull,  dusky  stone,  which  burst  with  a  stroke  into  two 
chalices  of  incrusted  crimson  crystals, — I  ought  to  be 
too  near  the  end  of  a  long  chapter  to  tell.  But  this 
search,  and  this  finding,  and  the  motive  of  it,  were  the 
soul  and  the  crown  of  Leslie's  pleasure  for  the  day.  She 
did  not  even  stop  to  think  how  long  she  had  had  Frank 
Scherman's  attention  all  to  herself,  or  the  triumph  that 


132  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

it  was  in  the  eyes  of  the  older  girls,  among  whom  he  was 
excessively  admired,  and  not  very  disguisedly  competed 
for.  She  did  not  know  how  fast  she  was  growing  to  be 
a  sort  of  admiration  herself  among  them,  in  their  girls' 
fashion,  or  what  she  might  do,  if  she  chose,  in  the  way  of 
small,  early  belleship  here  at  Outledge  with  such  begin 
ning, — how  she  was  "  getting  on,"  in  short,  as  girls  ex 
press  it.  And  so,  as  Jeannie  Hadden  asked,  "  Where 
was  the  satisfaction  ?  " 

"  You  never  knew  anything  like  it,"  said  Jeannie  to 
her  friend  Ginevra,  talking  it  all  over  with  her  that 
evening  in  a  bit  of  a  visit  to  Mrs.  Thoresby's  room.  "  I 
never  saw  anybody  take  so  among  strangers.  Madam 
Routh  was  delighted  with  her;  and  so,  I  should  think, 
was  Mr.  Scherman.  They  say  he  hates  trouble;  but  he 
took  her  all  round  the  top  of  the  mountain,  hammering 
stones  for  her  to  find  a  geode." 

"  That's  the  newest  dodge,"  said  Mrs.  Thoresby,  with 
a  little  sarcastic  laugh.  "  Girls  of  that  sort  are  always 
looking  for  geodes.".  After  this,  Mr.  Thoresby  had 
always  a  little  well-bred  venom  for  Leslie  Goldthwaite. 

At  the  same  time,  Leslie  herself,  coming  out  on  the 
piazza  for  a  moment  after  tea,  met  Miss  Craydocke  ap 
proaching  over  the  lawn.  She  had  only  her  errand  to 
introduce  her,  but  she  would  not  lose  the  opportunity. 
She  went  straight  up  to  the  little  woman,  in  a  frank, 
sweet  way.  But  a  bit  of  embarrassment  underneath,  the 
real  respect  that  made  her  timid,  perhaps  a  little  nervous 
fatigue  after  the  excitement  and  exertion  of  the  day, 
did  what  nerves  and  embarrassment,  and  reverence  itself, 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  133 

•will  do  sometimes, — played  a  trick  with  her  perfectly 
clear  thought  on  its  way  to  her  tongue. 

"  Miss  Graywacke,  I  believe  ?  "  she  said,  and  instantly 
knew  the  dreadful  thing  that  she  had  done. 

"  Exactly,"  said  the  lady,  with  an  amused  little  smile. 

"  O,  I  do  beg  your  pardon,"  began  Leslie,  blushing 
all  over. 

"  No  need, — no  need.  Do  you  think  I  don't  know 
what  name  I  go  by,  behind  my  back  ?  They  suppose 
because  I'm  old  and  plain  and  single,  and  wear  a  front, 
and  don't  understand  rats  and  the  German,  that  I'm 
deaf  and  blind  and  stupid.  But  I  believe  I  get  as  much 
as  they  do  out  of  their  jokes,  after  all."  The  dear  old 
soul  took  Leslie  by  both  her  hands  as  she  spoke,  and 
looked  a  whole  world  of  gentle  benignity  at  her  out  of 
two  soft  gray  eyes,  and  then  she  laughed  again.  This 
woman  had  no  self  to  be  hurt. 

"  We  stopped  at  the  Cliff  this  morning,"  Leslie  took 
heart  to  say ;  "  and  they  were  so  glad  of  your  parcel, — 
the  little  girl  and  her  aunt.  And  Prissy  gave  me  some 
thing  to  bring  back  to  you, — a  splendid  specimen  of 
beryl  that  she  has  found." 

"  Then  my  mind's  at  rest !  "  said  Miss  Craydocke, 
cheerier  than  ever.  "  I  was  sure  she'd  break  her  neck, 
or  pull  the  mountain  down  on  her  head  some  day  looking 
for  it." 

"  Would  you  like — I've  found— I  should  like  you  to 
have  that  too, — a  garnet  geode  from  Feather-Cap  ?  " 
Leslie  thought  she  had  done  it  very  clumsily,  and  in  a 
hurry,  after  all. 

"  Will  you  come  over  to  my  little  room,  dear, — num- 


134  A.  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

ber  fifteen,   in  the  west  wing, — to-morrow  some  time, 
with  your  stones  ?    I  want  to  see  more  of  you." 

There  was  a  deliberate,  gentle  emphasis  upon  her 
words.  If  the  grandest  person  of  whom  she  had  ever 
known  had  said  to  Leslie  Goldthwaite,  "  I  want  to  see 
more  of  you,"  she  would  not  have  heard  it  with  a 
warmer  thrill  than  she  felt  that  moment  at  her  heart. 


immer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  135 


VIII. 

IT  was  a  glorious  July  morning,  and  there  was  noth 
ing  particular  on  foot.  In  the  afternoon,  there  would 
be  drives  and  walks,  perhaps ;  for  some  hours,  now,  there 
would  be  intensifying  heat.  The  sun  had  burned  away 
every  cloud  that  had  hung  rosy  about  his  rising,  and  the 
great  gray  flanks  of  Washington  glared  in  a  pale  scorch 
close  up  under  the  sky,  whose  blue  fainted  in  the  flood 
ing  presence  of  the  full  white  light  of  such  unblunted 
day.  Here  and  there,  adown  his  sides,  something  flashed 
out  in  a  clear,  intense  dazzle,  like  an  enormous  crystal 
cropping  from  the  granite,  and  blazing  with  reflected 
splendor.  These  were  the  leaps  of  water  from  out  dark 
rifts  into  the  sun. 

"  Everybody  will  be  in  the  pines  to-day,"  said  Martha 
Josselyn.  "  I  think  it  is  better  when  they  all  go  off  and 
leave  us." 

"  We  can  go  up  under  our  rock,"  said  Sue,  putting 
stockings  and  mending  cotton  into  a  large,  light  basket. 
"  Have  you  got  the  chess-board  ?  What  should  we  do 
without  our  mending-day  ?  " 

These  two  girls  had  bought  new  stockings  for  all  the 
little  feet  at  home,  that  the  weekly  darning  might  be 
less  for  the  mother  while  they  were  away ;  and  had  come 


136  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

with  their  own  patiently-cared-for  old  hose,  "  which  the 
shot-Id  have  nothing  else  to  do  but  to  embroider." 

They  had  made  a  sort  of  holiday,  in  their  fashion,  of 
mending-day  at  home,  till  it  had  come  to  seem  like  a  pos 
itive  treat  and  rest;  and  the  habit  was  so  strong  upon 
them  that  they  hailed  it  even  here.  They  always  got  out 
their  little  chess-board,  when  they  sat  down  to  the  big 
basket  together.  They  could  darn,  and  consider,  and 
move,  and  darn  again;  and  so  could  keep  it  up  all  day 
long,  as  else  even  they  would  have  found  it  nearly  intol 
erable  to  do.  So,  though  they  seemed  slower  at  it,  they 
really  in  the  end  saved  time.  Thursday  night  saw  the 
tedious*  work  all  done,  and  the  basket  piled  with  neatly 
folded  pairs,  like  a  heap  of  fine  white  rolls.  This  was  a 
great  thing,  and  "  enough  for  one  day,"  as  Mrs.  Josselyn 
said.  It  was  disastrous  if  they  once  began  to  lie  over. 
If  they  could  be  disposed  of  between  sun  and  sun,  the 
girls  were  welcome  to  any  play  they  could  get  out  of  it 

"  There  they  go,  those  two  together.  Always  to  the 
pines,  and  always  with  a  work-basket,"  said  Leslie  Gold- 
thwaite,  sitting  on  the  piazza  step  at  the  Green  Cottage, 
by  Mrs.  Linceford's  feet,  the  latter  lady  occupying  a 
Shaker  rocking-chair  behind.  "  What  nice  girls  they 
seem  to  be, — and  nobody  appears  to  know  them  much, 
beyond  a  '  good  morning  !' ' 

"  Kenny-penny,  Goosie-poosie,  Turkey-lurky,  Ducky- 
daddies,  and  Chicken  Little ! "  said  Mrs.  Linceford, 
counting  up  from  thumb  to  little  finger.  "  Dakie  Thayne 
and  Miss  Craydocke,  Marmaduke  Wharne  and  these 
two, — they  just  make  it  out,"  she  continued,  counting 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  137 

back  again.  "  Whatever  you  do,  Les,  don't  make  up  to 
Fox  Lox  at  last,  for  all  our  sakes !  " 

Out  came  Dakie  Thayne  at  this  point,  upon  them, 
with  his  hands  full.  "  Miss  Leslie,  could  you  head  these 
needles  for  me  with  black  wax?  I  want  them  for  my 
butterflies,  and  I've  made  such  a  daub  and  scald  of  it! 
I've  blistered  three  fingers,  and  put  lop-sided  heads  to 
two  miserable  pins,  and  left  no  end  of  wax  splutters  on 
my  table.  I  haven't  but  two  sticks  more,  and  the  dea 
con  don't  keep  any;  I  must  try  to  get  a  dozen  pins  out 
of  it,  at  least."  He  had  his  sealing-wax  and  a  lighted 
"  homespun  candle,"  as  Leslie  called  the  dips  of  Mrs. 
Green's  manufacture,  in  one  hand,  and  a  pincushion 
stuck  full  of  needles  waiting  for  tops,  in  the  other. 

"  I  told  you  so,"  said  Mrs.  Linceford  to  Leslie. 
'•'  That's  it,  then  ?  "  she  asked  of  Dakie  Thayne. 

"What,  ma'am?" 

"  Butterflies.  I  knew  you'd  some  hobby  or  other, — I 
said  so.  I'm  glad  it's  no  worse,"  she  answered,  in  her 
pleasant,  smiling  way.  Dakie  Thayne  had  a  great  lik 
ing  for  Mrs.  Linceford,  but  he  adored  Leslie  Gold- 
thwaite. 

"  I'd  like  to  show  them  to  you,  if  you'd  care,"  he 
said.  "  I've  got  some  splendid  ones.  One  great  Tur- 
nus,  that  I  brought  with  me  in  the  chrysalis,  that  hatched 
out  while  I  was  at  Jefferson.  I  rolled  it  up  in  a  paper 
for  the  journey,  and  fastened  it  in  the  crown  of  my  hat. 
I've  had  it  ever  since  last  fall.  The  asterias  worms  are 
spinning  now, — the  early  ones.  They're  out  on  the 
carrot-tops  in  shoals.  I'm  feeding  up  a  dozen  of  'em  in 
a  box.  They're  very  handsome, — bright  green  with 


138  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

black  and  yellow  spots, — and  it's  the  queerest  thing  to 
see  them  stiffen  out  and  change." 

"  Can  you  ?  Do  they  do  it  all  at  once  ?  "  asked  Etty 
Thoresby,  slipping  into  the  rocking-chair,  as  Mrs.  Lince- 
ford,  by  whom  she  had  come  and  placed  herself  within 
the  last  minute,  rose  and  went  in  to  follow  her  laundress, 
just  then  going  up  the  stairs  with  her  basket. 

"  Pretty  much.  It  seems  so.  The  first  thing  you 
know  they  stick  themselves  up  by  their  tails,  and  spin  a 
noose  to  hang  back  their  heads  in,  and  there  they  are,  like 
a  pappoose  in  a  basket.  Then  their  skin  turns  a  queer, 
dead,  ashy  color,  and  grows  somehow  straight  and  tight, 
and  they  only  squirm  a  little  in  a  feeble  way  now  and 
then,  and  grow  stiff er  and  stiff er,  till  they  can't  squirm  at 
all,  and  then  they're  mummies,  and  that's  the  end  of  it  till 
the  butterflies  are  born.  It's  a  strange  thing  to  see  a  live 
creature  go  into  its  own  shroud,  and  hang  itself  up  to  turn 
into  a  corpse.  Sometimes  a  live  one,  crawling  round  to 
find  a  place  for  itself,  will  touch  a  mummy  accidentally ; 
and  then,  when  they're  not  quite  gone,  I've  seen  'em 
give  an  odd  little  quiver,  under  the  shell,  as  if  they  were 
almost  at  peace,  and  didn't  want  to  be  intruded  on,  or 
called  back  to  earthly  things,  and  the  new-comer  takes  the 
hint,  and  respects  privacy,  and  moves  himself  off  to  find 
quarters  somewhere  else.  Miss  Leslie,  how  splendidly 
you're  doing  those !  What's  the  difference,  I  wonder, 
between  girls'  fingers  and  boys'  ?  I  couldn't  make  those 
atoms  of  balls  so  round  and  perfect,  '  if  I  died  and  suf 
fered,'  as  Miss  Hoskins  says." 

"  It's  only  centrifugal  force,"  said  Leslie,   spinnin- 
round  between  her  finger  and  thumb  a  needle  to  who,1 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite  Life.  139 

head  she  had  just  touched  a  giobule  of  &  bright  black 
wax.  "  The  world  and  a  pi-i-head, — b^  made  on  the 
same  principle." 

The  Haddens  and  Imogn  Thoresbystrolled  along  to 
gether,  and  added  themsel^s  to  the  gr^p- 

"  Let's  go  over  to  the  Jotel,  Leslie  We've  seen  noth 
ing  of  the  girls  since  *st  after  br<akfast.  They  must 
be  up  in  the  hall,  arraging  about  tie  tableaux." 

"I'll  come  by  anc'by,  if  you  vant  me;  don't  wait. 
I'm  going  to  finish  hese — properly  " ;  and  she  dipped 
and  twirled  another^edle  with  dainty  precision,  in  the 
pause  between  her  ords. 

"  Have  you  got1  lot  of  brothers  at  home,  Miss  Les 
lie?"  asked  Daki^hayne. 

"  Two,"  replic  Leslie.  "  !N"ot  at  home,  though,  now. 
One  at  Exeter,  4  the  other  at  Cambridge.  Why  ?  " 

"  I  was  thinng  it  would  be  bad — what  do  you  call 
it — political  e^omy  or  something,  if  you  hadn't  any, 
that's  all." 

"  Mamma  ants  you,"  said  Ginevra  Thoresby,  looking 
out  at  the  dc  to  call  her  sisters.  "  She's  in  the  Haught- 
leys'  room,  -hey're  talking  about  the  wagon  for  Minster 
Rock  to-nip"  What  do  you  take  up  your  time  with  that 
boy  for  ?  ''^e  added,  not  inaudibly,  as  she  and  Imogen 
turned  au/  together. 

"  O  df-'  •  "  cried  blunt  Etty,  lingering,  "  I  wonder  if 
she  mea-  me-  I  want  to  hear  about  the  caterpillars. 
Mamnifthinks  the  Haughtleys  are  such  nice  people, 
becaus^ney  came  in  their  own  carriage,  and  they've 
got  si1  big  trunks,  and  a  saddle-horse,  and  elegant 


140  A  SunW  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

dressing-cases,  Vd  ivoryXacked  brushes !     I  wish   she 
didn't  care  so  aW  such  thVigs.'' 

Mrs.  ThoresbWould  ha\?  been  shocked  to  hear  her 
little  daughter's  Vrangemenp^nd  version  of  her  ideas. 
She  had  simply  Ben  kind  toUhese  strangers  on  their 
arrival — in  their  oVi  comfortaV  carriage — a  few  days 
since ;  had  stepped  Vrward, — aafeomehow  it  seemed  to 
devolve  upon  her,  wui  her  dign\>d  air  and  handsome 
gray  curls,  when  sheAchose,  to  dV_representing  by  a 
kind  of  tacit  consent  tie  householcin  general,  as  some 
body  in  every  such  sojourn  usually  vill;  had  interested 
herself  about  their  rooms,  which  werWar  her  own,  and 
had  reported  of  them,  privately,  amon&ther  things  noted 
in  these  first  glimpses,  taat  "  they  haWerything  about 
them  in  the  most  perfect  style ;  ivory-bared  brushes,  and 
lovely  inlaid  dressing-cases,  Ginevra ;  th«W  all  ilirough, 
and  no  sham !  "  Yes  indeed,  if  that  c^d  but  be  said 
truly,  and  need  not  stop  at  brushes  and 

Imogen  came  back  presently,  and  called  Etty  from 
the  stairs,  and  she  was  obliged  to  go.  Jfctiie  Hadden 
waited  till  they  were  fairly  off  the  land.V  and  then 
walked  away  herself,  saying  nothing,  bu^earing  a 
slightly  displeased  air. 

ilrs.  Thoresby  and  her  elder  daughter  had  \jen  a  sort 
of  dislike  to  Dakie  Thayne.  They  seemed  tVhink  he 
wanted  putting  down.  Nobody  knew  anytt^g  about 
him ;  he  was  well  enough  in  his  place,  perhaps  >ut  why 
should  he  join  himself  to  their  party  \  The  Eah  girls 
had  Frank  Scherman,  and  two  or  three  other  fler  at 
tendants;  among  them  he  was  simply  not  tho^t  of, 
often,  at  all.  If  it  had  not  been  for  Leslie  an  Mrs. 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  life.  141 

Linceford,  he  would  have  found  himself  inhutledge, 
what  boys  of  his  age  are  apt  to  find  themselW  in  the 
world  at  large, — a  sort  of  odd  or  stray,  nottorovided 
for  anywhere  in  the  general  scheme   of  soc%.     For 
this  very  reason,  discerning  it  quickly,  Leslie  tad  been 
loyal  to  him;  and  he,  with  all  his  boy-vehement  of  ad 
miration  and  devotion,  was  loyal  to  her.     Shelad  the 
feeling,  motherly  and  sisterly  in  its  mingled  insmct,  by 
which  all  true  and  fine  feminine  natures  are  moed,  in 
behalf  of  the  man-nature  in  its  dawn,  that  so  neea  sym 
pathy  and  gentle  consideration  and  provision,  an<\that 
certain  respect  which  calls  forth  and  fosters  self-res  >ect ; 
— to  be  allowed  and  acknowledged  to  be  somebody  lest 
for  the  want  of  this  it  should  fail,  unhappily,  ever  o  be 
anybody.    She  was  not  aware  of  it ;  she  only  f  ollowel  her 
kindly  instinct.    So  she  was  doing,  unconsciously,  ote  of 
the  best  early  bits  of  her  woman-work  in  the  world. 

Once  in  a  while  it  occurred  to  Leslie  Goldthwaite  to 
wonder  why  it  was  that  she  was  able  to  forget — that  she 
found  she  had  forgotten,  in  a  measure — those  little  self- 
absorptions  that  she  had  been  afraid  of,  and  that  had  puz 
zled  her  in  her  thoughtful  moments.  She  was  glad  to 
be  "  taken  up  "  with  something  that  could  please  Dakie 
Thayne,  or  to  go  over  to  the  Cliff  and  see  Prissy  Hoskins, 
and  tell  her  a  story,  or  help  Dakie  to  fence  in  safely  her 
beds  of  flower-seedlings,  (she  had  not  let  her  first  visit 
be  her  last,  in  these  weeks  since  her  introduction  there,) 
or  to  sit  an  hour  with  dear  old  Miss  Craydocke  and  help 
her  in  a  bit  of  charity  work,  and  hear  her  sweet,  simple, 
genial  talk.  She  had  taken  up  her  little  opportunities  as 
they  came, — was  it  by  instinct  only,  or  through  a  tender 


142  A  ummer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

Spirit-leling,  that  she  winnowed  them  and  chose  the 
best,  an  had  been  kept  so  a  little  out  of  the  drift  and 
hurry  fat  might  else  have  frothed  away  the  hours  ? 
"  Give  <*  our  daily  bread,"  "  Lead  us  not  into  tempta- 
tion,"-tney  have  to  do  with  each  other,  if  we  "  know 
the  day  bread  when  we  see  it."  But  that  also  is  of  the 
grace  c  God. 

Thee  was  the  beginning  of  fruit  under  the  leaf  with 
LeslieGoldthwaite ;  and  the  fine  life-current  was  setting 
itself  that  way  with  its  best  impulse  and  its  rarest  par 
ticles 

Tie  pincushion  was  well  filled  with  the  delicate,  bris 
tling  tiny-headed  needles,  when  Miss  Craydocke  ap- 
peaed,  walking  across,  under  her  great  brown  sun- 
umlrella,  from  the  hotel. 

"  [f  you've  nothing  else  to  do,  my  dears,  suppose  we 
go  o*cr  to  the  pines  together?  Where's  Miss  Jeannie? 
Wouldn't  she  like  it?  All  the  breeze  there  is  haunts 
them  dways." 

"I'm  always  ready  for  the  pines,"  said  Leslie. 
"  Here,  Dakie,  I  hope  you'll  catch  a  butterfly  for  every 
pin.  0,  now  I  think  of  it,  have  you  found  your 
elephant?" 

"  Tes,  half-way  up  the  garret-stairs.  I  can't  feed  him 
comfortably,  Miss  Leslie.  He  wants  to  eat  incessantly, 
and  the  elm-leaves  wilt  so  quickly,  if  I  bring  them  in, 
that  the  first  thing  I  know,  he's  out  of  proper  provender 
and  off  on  a  raid.  He  needs  to  be  on  the  tree ;  but  then 
I  should  lose  him." 

Leslie  thought  a  minute.  "  You  might  tie  up  a  branch 
with  mosquito-netting,"  she  said. 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  143 

"  Isn't  that  bright  ?  I'll  go  right  and  do  it, — only  I 
haven't  any  netting,"  said  he. 

"  Mrs.  Linceford  has.  I'll  go  and  beg  a  piece  for  you. 
And  then — if  you'll  just  sit  here  a  minute — I'll  come, 
Miss  Craydocke." 

When  she  came  back,  she  brought  Jeannie  with  her. 
To  use  a  vulgar  proverb,  Jeannie's  nose  was  rather  out 
of  joint  since  the  Haughtleys  had  arrived.  Ginevra 
Thoresby  was  quite  engrossed  with  them,  and  this  often 
involved  Imogen.  There  was  only  room  for  six  in  Cap 
tain  Green's  wagon,  and  nothing  had  been  said  to  Jeannie 
about  the  drive  to  Minster  Rock. 

Leslie  had  hanging  upon  her  finger,  also,  the  finest  and 
whitest  and  most  graceful  of  all  possible  little  split  bas 
kets,  only  just  big  enough  to  carry  a  bit  of  such  work  as 
was  in  it  now, — a  strip  of  sheer,  delicate  grass-linen, 
which  needle  and  thread,  with  her  deft  guidance,  were 
turning  into  a  cobweb  border,  by  a  weaving  of  lace-lines, 
strong,  yet  light,  where  the  woof  of  the  original  material 
had  been  drawn  out.  It  was  "  done  for  odd-minute 
work,  and  was  better  than  anything  she  could  buy." 
Prettier  it  certainly  was,  when,  with  a  finishing  of  the 
merest  edge  of  lace,  it  came  to  encircle  her  round,  fair 
arms  and  shoulders,  or  to  peep  out  with  its  dainty  revela 
tion  among  the  gathering  treasures  of  the  linen-drawer  I 
told  you  of.  She  had  accomplished  yards  of  it  already  for 
her  holiday-work. 

She  had  brought  the  netting,  as  she  promised,  for 
Dakie  Thayne,  who  received  it  with  thanks,  and  straight 
way  hastened  off  to  get  his  "  elephant "  and  a  piece  of 


144  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

string,  and  to  find  a  convenient  elm-branch  which  he 
could  convert  into  a  cage-pasture. 

"  I'll  come  round  to  the  pines  afterward,"  he  said. 

And,  just  then,  Sin  Saxon's  bright  face  and  pretty  fig 
ure  showing  themselves  on  the  hotel  piazza,  with  a  seek 
ing  look  and  gesture,  Jeannie  and  Elinor  were  drawn  off 
also  to  ask  about  the  tableaux,  and  see  if  they  were 
wanted,  with  the  like  promise  that  "  they  would  come 
presently."  So  Miss  Craydocke  and  Leslie  walked 
slowly  round,  under  the  sun-umbrella,  to  the  head  of  the 
ledge,  by  themselves. 

Up  this  rocky  promontory  it  was  very  pretty  little 
climbing,  over  the  irregular  turf-covered  crags  that  made 
the  ascent;  and  once  up,  it  was  charming.  A  natural 
grove  of  stately  old  pine-trees,  with  their  glory  of  tasselled 
foliage  and  their  breath  of  perfume,  crowned  and  shel 
tered  it ;  and  here  had  been  placed  at  cosy  angles,  under 
the  deepest  shade,  long,  broad,  elastic  benches  of  boards, 
sprung  from  rock  to  rock,  and  made  secure  to  stakes, 
or  held  in  place  by  convenient  irregularities  of  the  rock 
itself.  Pine-trunks  and  granite  offered  rough  support  to 
backs  that  could  so  fit  themselves ;  and  visitors  found  out 
their  favorite  seats,  and  spent  hours  there,  with  books  or 
work,  or  looking  forth  in  a  luxurious  listlessness  from  out 
the  cool  upon  the  warm,  bright  valley-picture,  and  the 
shining  water  wandering  down  from  far  heights  and 
unknown  solitudes  to  see  the  world. 

"  It's  better  so,"  said  Miss  Craydocke,  when  the  others 
left  them.  "  I  had  a  word  I  wanted  to  say  to  you. 
What  do  you  suppose  those  two  came  up  here  to  the 
mountains  for  ?  "  And  Miss  Craydocke  nodded  up,  in- 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  145 

dicatively,  toward  the  two  girl-figures  just  visible  by 
their  draperies  in  a  nook  of  rock  beyond  and  above  the 
benches. 

"  To  get  the  good  of  them — as  we  did — I  suppose," 
Leslie  answered,  wondering  a  little  what  Miss  Craydocke 
might  exactly  mean. 

"  I  suppose  so,  too,"  was  the  reply.  "  And  I  suppose 
— the  Lord's  love  came  with  them !  I  suppose  He  cares 
whether  they  get  the  full  of  the  good.  And  yet  I  think 
He  leaves  it,  like  everything  else,  a  little  to  us." 

Leslie's  heart  beat  quicker,  hearing  these  words.  It 
beat  quicker  always  when  such  thoughts  were  touched. 
She  was  shy  of  seeking  them;  she  almost  tried,  in  an 
involuntary  way,  to  escape  them  at  first,  when  they  were 
openly  broached ;  yet  she  longed  always,  at  the  same  time, 
for  a  deeper  understanding  of  them.  "  I  should  like  to 
know  the  Miss  Josselyns  better,"  she  said,  presently, 
when  Miss  Craydocke  made  no  haste  to  speak  again. 
"  I  have  been  thinking  so  this  morning.  I  have  thought 
so  very  often.  But  they  seem  so  quiet,  always.  One 
doesn't  like  to  intrude." 

"  They  ought  to  be  more  with  young  people,"  Miss 
Craydocke  went  on.  "  And  they  ought  to  do  less  rip 
ping  and  sewing  and  darning,  if  it  could  be  managed. 
They  brought  three  trunks  with  them.  And  what  do 
you  think  the  third  is  full  of  ?  " 

Leslie  had  no  idea,  of  course. 

"  Old  winter  dresses.  To  be  made  over.  For  the 
children  at  home.  So  that  their  mother  may  be  coaxed 
to  take  her  turn  and  go  away  upon  a  visit  when  they  get 
back,  seeing  that  the  fall  sewing  will  be  half  done! 


146  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

That's  a  pretty  coming  to  the  mountains  for  two  tired- 
out  young  things,  I  think !  " 

"  O  dear !  "  cried  Leslie,  pitifully ;  and  then  a  secret 
compunction  seized  her,  thinking  of  her  own  little  elegant, 
«dd-minute  work,  which  was  all  she  had  to  interfere  with 
mountain-pleasure. 

"  And  isn't  it  some  of  our  business,  if  we  could  get  at 
it  ?  "  asked  Miss  Craydocke,  concluding. 

"  Dear  Miss  Craydocke !  "  said  Leslie,  with  a  warm 
brightness  in  her  face,  as  she  looked  up,  "  the  world  is  full 
of  business ;  but  so  few  people  find  out  any  but  their  own  ! 
Nobody  but  you  dreamt  of  this,  or  of  Prissy  Hopkins,  till 
you  showed  us, — or  of  all  the  little  Wigleys.  How  do 
you  come  to  know,  when  other  people  go  on  in  their 
own  way,  and  see  nothing, — like  the  priests  and  Le- 
vites  ?  "  This  last  she  added  by  a  sudden  occurrence  and 
application,  that  half  answered,  beforehand,  her  own 
question. 

"  When  we  think  of  people's  needs  as  the  Master's ! " 
said  Miss  Craydocke,  evading  herself,  and  never  minding 
her  syntax.  "  When  we  think  what  every  separate  soul 
is  to  him,  that  he  came  into  the  world  to  care  for  as 
God  cares  for  the  sparrows!  It's  my  faith  that  he's 
never  gone  away  from  his  work,  dear;  that  his  love  lies 
alongside  every  life,  and  in  all  its  experience;  and  that 
his  life  is  in  his  love ;  and  that  if  we  want  to  find  him — 
there  we  may !  l  Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  the 
least  of  these,  ye  have  done  it  unto  me.' '  She  grew 
eloquent — the  plain,  simple-speaking  woman — when 
something  that  was  great  and  living  to  her  would  find 
utterance. 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  147 

"  How  do  you  mean  that  ?  "  said  Leslie,  with  a  sort  of 
abruptness,  as  of  one  who  must  have  definiteness,  but 
who  hurried  with  her  asking,  lest  after  a  minute  she 
might  not  dare.  "  That  He  really  knows,  and  thinks,  of 
every  special  thing  and  person, — and  cares?  Or  only 
would?" 

"  I  take  it  as  He  said  it,"  said  Miss  Craydocke.  "  '  All 
power  is  given  me  in  heaven  and  in  earth.'  l  And  lo !  I 
am  with  you  always,  even  unto  the  end  of  the  world ! ' 
He  put  the  two  together  himself,  dear !  " 

A  great,  warm,  instant  glow  seemed  to  rush  over  Leslie 
inwardly.  In  the  light  and  quickening  of  it,  other  words 
shone  out  and  declared  themselves.  "  Abide  in  me,  and 
I  in  you.  As  the  branch  cannot  bear  fruit  of  itself,  ex 
cept  it  abide  in  the  vine,  no  more  can  ye,  except  ye 
abide  in  me."  And  this  was  the  abiding!  The  sym 
pathy,  the  interest,  that  found  itself  side  by  side  with 
His !  The  faith  that  felt  His  uniting  presence  with  all ! 

To  this  child  of  sixteen  came  a  moment's  glimpse  of 
what  might  be,  truly,  that  life  which  is  "  hid  with  Christ 
in  God,"  and  which  has  its  blessed  work  with  the  Lord 
in  the  world ; — came,  with  the  word  of  a  plain,  old,  un- 
considered  woman,  whom  heedless  girls  made  daily  sport 
of ; — came,  bringing  with  it  "  old  and  new,"  like  a 
householder  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven ;  showing  how  the 
life  and  the  fruit  are  inextricably  ©ne, — how  the  growth 
and  the  withering  are  inevitably  determined ! 

They  reached  the  benches  now ;  they  saw  the  Josselyns 
busy  up  beyond,  with  their  chess-board  between  them, 
and  their  mending-basket  at  their  feet;  they  would  not 
go  now  and  interrupt  their  game. 


148  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

The  seat  which  the  sisters  had  chosen,  because  it  was 
just  a  quiet  little  corner  for  two,  was  a  nook  scooped  out, 
as  it  were,  in  a  jut  of  granite;  hollowed  in  behind  and 
perpendicularly  to  a  height  above  their  heads,  and  em 
bracing  a  mossy  little  flat  below,  so  that  it  seemed  like  a 
great  solid  arm-chair  into  which  two  could  get  together, 
and  a  third  could  not  possibly  intrude. 

Miss  Craydocke  and  Leslie  settled  themselves,  and  both 
were  silent.  Presently  Leslie  spoke  again,  giving  out  a 
fragmentary  link  of  the  train  of  thought  that  had  been 
going  on  in  her.  "  If  it  weren't  for  just  one  thing !  " 
she  said,  and  there  she  stopped. 

"  What  ?  "  asked  Miss  Craydocke,  as  not  a  bit  at  a  loss 
to  make  out  the  unseen  connection. 

"  The  old  puzzle.  We  have  to  think  and  work  a 
good  deal  of  the  time  for  ourselves.  And  then  we  lose 
sight — " 

"Of  Him?    Why?" 

Leslie  said  no  more,  but  waited.  Miss  Craydocke's 
tone  was  clear,  untroubled.  The  young  girl  looked, 
therefore,  for  this  clear  confidence  to  be  spoken  out. 

"  Why  ?  since  He  is  close  to  our  life  also,  and  cares 
tenderly  for  that  ? — since,  if  we  let  him  possess  himself 
of  it,  it  is  one  of  his  own  channels,  by  which  he  still 
gives  himself  unto  the  world  ?  He  didn't  do  it  all  in  one 
single  history  of  three  years,  my  child,  or  thirty-three, 
out  there  in  Judaea.  He  keeps  on — so  I  believe — 
through  every  possible  way  and  circumstance  of  human 
living  now,  if  only  the  life  is  grafted  on  his.  The  Vine 
and  the  branches,  and  God  tending  all.  And  the  fruit  is 
the  kingdom  of  heaven." 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  149 

It  is  never  too  late,  and  never  impossible,  for  a  human 
face  to  look  beautiful.  In  the  soft  light  and  shadow  of 
the  stirring  pines,  with  the  moving  from  within  of  that 
which  at  once  illumined  and  veiled,  with  an  exultation 
and  an  awe,  there  came  a  glory  over  the  homely  and  faded 
features  which  they  could  neither  bar  nor  dim.  And  the 
thought  took  possession  of  the  word  and  tone,  and  made 
them  simply  grand  and  heavenly  musical. 

After  that  they  sat  still  again, — it  matters  not  how 
many  minutes.  The  crisp  green  spines  rustled  dreamily 
over  their  heads ;  the  wild  birds  called  to  each  other,  far 
back  in  the  closer  lying  woods;  the  water  glanced  on, 
millions  of  new  drops  every  instant  making  the  selfsame 
circles  and  gushes  and  falls,  and  the  wealth  of  summer 
sunshine  holding  and  vivifying  all.  Leslie  had  word  and 
scene  stamped  together  on  her  spirit  and  memory  in 
those  moments.  There  was  a  Presence  in  the  hush  and 
beauty.  Two  souls  were  here  met  together  in  the  name 
of  the  living  Christ.  And  for  that  there  is  the  promise. 

Martha  Josselyn  and  her  sister  sat  and  played  and 
mended  on. 

By  and  by  Dakie  Thayne  came;  said  a  bright  word 
or  two;  glanced  round,  in  restless  boy-fashion,  as  if  tak 
ing  in  the  elements  of  the  situation,  and  considering  what 
was  to  be  made  out  of  it;  perceived  the  pair  at  chess; 
and  presently,  with  his  mountain  stick,  went  springing 
away  from  point  to  point,  up  and  around  the  piles  and 
masses  of  rock  and  mound  that  made  up  the  broadening 
ascent  of  the  ledge. 

"  Check  to  your  queen,"  said  Sue. 

Martha  put  her  elbow  up  on  her  knee,  and  held  her 


150  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

needle  suspended  by  its  thread.  Sue  darned  away,  and 
got  a  great  hole  laid  lengthwise  with  smooth  lines,  before 
her  threatening  move  had  been  provided  for.  Then  a  red 
knight  came  with  gallant  leap,  right  down  in  the  midst  of 
the  white  forces,  menacing  in  his  turn  right  and  left ;  and 
Martha  drew  a  long  sigh,  and  sat  back,  and  poised  her 
needle-lance  again,  and  went  to  work;  and  it  was  Sue's 
turn  to  lean  over  the  board  with  knit  brows  and  holden 
breath. 

Something  peered  over  the  rock  above  them  at  this 
moment.  A  boy's  head,  from  which  the  cap  had  been 
removed. 

"  If  only  they'll  play  now,  and  not  chatter !  "  thought 
Dakie  Thayne,  lying  prone  along  the  cliff  above,  and  put 
ting  up  his  elbows  to  rest  his  head  between  his  hands. 
"  This'll  be  jolly,  if  it  don't  turn  to  eavesdropping.  Poor 
old  Xoll!  I  haven't  had  a  game  since  I  played  with 
him!" 

Sue  would  not  withdraw  her  attack.  She  planted  a 
bishop  so  that,  if  the  knight  should  move,  it  would  open 
a  course  straight  down  toward  a  weak  point  beside  the 
red  king. 

"  She  means  to  '  fight  it  out  on  that  line,  if  it  takes  all 
summer.' '  Dakie  went  on  within  himself,  having 
grasped,  during  the  long  pause  before  Sue's  move,  the 
whole  position.  "  They're  no  fools  at  it,  to  have  got  it 
into  a  shape  like  that !  I'd  just  like  £foll  to  see  it !  " 

Martha  looked,  and  drew  a  thread  or  two  into  her  stock 
ing,  and  looked  again.  Then  she  stabbed  her  cotton-ball 
with  her  needle,  and  put  up  both  hands — one  with  the 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  151 

white  stocking-foot  still  drawn  over  it — beside  her  tem 
ples.  At  last  she  castled. 

Sue  was  as  calm  as  the  morning.  She  always  grew 
calm  and  strong  as  the  game  drew  near  the  end.  She 
had  even  let  her  thoughts  go  off  to  other  things  while 
Martha  pondered  and  she  wove  in  the  cross-threads  of 
her  darn. 

"  I  wonder,  Martha,"  she  said  now,  suddenly,  before 
attending  to  the  new  aspect  of  the  board,  "  if  I  couldn't 
do  without  that  muslin  skirt  I  made  to  wear  under  my 
pina,  and  turn  it  into  a  couple  of  white  waists  to  carry 
home  to  mother  ?  If  she  goes  away,  you  know — " 

"Aigh!" 

It  was  a  short,  sharp,  unspellable  sound  that  came  from 
above.  Sue  started,  and  a  red  piece  rolled  from  the  board. 
Then  there  was  a  rustling  and  a  crashing  and  a  leaping, 
and  by  a  much  shorter  and  more  hazardous  way  than  he 
had  climbed,  Dakie  Thayne  came  down  and  stood  before 
them.  "  I  had  to  let  you  know !  I  couldn't  listen.  I 
was  in  hopes  you  wouldn't  talk.  Don't  move,  please! 
I'll  find  the  man.  I  do  beg  your  pardon, — I  had  no 
business, — but  I  so  like  chess, — when  it's  any  sort  of  a 
game !  " 

While  he  spoke,  he  was  looking  about  the  base  of  the 
rock,  and  by  good  fortune  spied  and  pounced  upon  the  bit 
of  bright-colored  ivory,  which  had  rolled  and  rested  itself 
against  a  hummocl£bf  sod. 

"  May  I  see  it  out  ?  "  he  begged,  approaching,  and  put 
ting  the  piece  upon  the  board.  "  You  must  have  played 
a  good  deal/'  looking  at  Sue. 


152  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

"  We  play  often  at  home,  my  sister  and  I ;  and  I  had 
some  good  practice  in —  "  There  she  stopped. 

"  In  the  hospital,"  said  Martha,  with  the  sharp  little 
way  she  took  up  sometimes.  "  Why  shouldn't  you  tell 
of  it?" 

"  Has  Miss  Josselyn  been  in  the  hospitals  ?  "  asked 
Dakie  Thayne,  with  a  certain  quick  change  in  his  tone. 

"  For  the  best  of  two  years,"  Martha  answered. 

At  this  moment,  seeing  how  Dakie  was  breaking  the 
ice  for  them,  up  came  Miss  Craydocke  and  Leslie  Gold- 
thwaite. 

"  Miss  Leslie !  Miss  Craydocke !  This  lady  has  been 
away  among  our  soldiers — in  the  hospitals — half  through 
the  war !  Perhaps — did  you  ever —  "  But  with  that 
he  broke  off.  There  was  a  great  flush  on  his  face,  and 
his  eyes  glowed  with  boy-enthusiasm  lit  at  the  thought 
of  the  war,  and  of  brave  men,  and  of  noble,  ministering 
women,  of  whom  he  suddenly  found  himself  face  to  face 
with  one. 

The  game  of  chess  got  swept  together.  "  It  was  as 
good  as  over,"  Martha  Josselyn  said.  And  these  five 
sat  down  together  among  the  rocks,  and  in  half  an  hour, 
after  weeks  of  mere  "  good-mornings  "  they  had  grown 
to  be  old  friends.  But  Dakie  Thayne — he  best  knew 
why — left  his  fragment  of  a  question  unfinished. 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  153 


IX. 


THE  "  by-and-by  "  people  came  at  last, — Jeannie,  and 
Elinor,  and  Sin  Saxon,  and  the  Arnalls,  and  Josie  Scher- 
man.  They  wanted  Leslie, — to  tell  and  ask  her  half  a 
hundred  things  about  the  projected  tableaux.  If  it  had 
only  been  Miss  Craydocke  and  the  Josselyns  sitting 
together,  with  Dakie  Thayne,  how  would  that  have  con 
cerned  them, — the  later  comers?  It  would  only  have 
been  a  bit  of  "  the  pines  "  preoccupied :  they  would  have 
found  a  place  for  themselves,  and  gone  on  with  their  own 
chatter.  But  Leslie's  presence  made  all  the  difference. 
The  little  group  became  the  nucleus  of  the  enlarging 
circle.  Miss  Craydocke  had  known  very  well  how  this 
would  be. 

They  asked  this  and  that  of  Leslie  which  they  had  come 
to  ask ;  and  she  would  keep  turning  to  the  Josselyns  and 
appealing  to  them ;  so  they  were  drawn  in.  There  was  a 
curtain  to  be  made,  first  of  all.  Miss  Craydocke  would 
undertake  that,  drafting  Leslie  and  the  Miss  Josselyns  to 
help  her;  they  should  all  come  to  her  room  early  to 
morrow,  and  they  would  have  it  ready  by  ten  o'clock. 
Leslie  wondered  a  little  that  she  found  work  for  them  to 
do :  a  part  of  the  play  she  thought  would  have  been  better ; 
but  Miss  Craydocke  knew  how  that  must  come  about. 
Besides,  she  had  more  than  one  little  line  to  lay  and  to 


154  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

pull,  this  serpent-wise  old  maiden,  in  behalf  of  her 
ultimate  designs  concerning  them. 

I  can't  stay  here  under  the  pines  and  tell  you  all  their 
talk  this  summer  morning, — how  Sin  Saxon  grew  social 
and  saucy  with  the  quiet  Miss  Josselyns;  how  she  fell 
upon  the  mending-basket  and  their  notability,  and  de 
clared  that  the  most  foolish  and  pernicious  proverb  in  the 
world  was  that  old  thing  about  a  stitch  in  time  saving 
nine;  it  might  save  certain  special  stitches;  but  how 
about  the  time  itself,  and  other  stitches:  She  didn't 
believe  in  it, — running  round  after  a  darning-needle  and 
forty  other  things,  the  minute  a  thread  broke,  and  drop 
ping  whatever  else  one  had  in  hand,  to  let  it  ravel  itself 
all  out  again ;  "  she  believed  in  a  good  big  basket,  in  a 
dark  closet,  and  laying  up  there  for  a  rainy  day,  and  be 
ing  at  peace  in  the  pleasant  weather.  Then,  too,  there 
was  another  thing ;  she  didn't  believe  in  notability  itself, 
at  all :  the  more  one  was  fool  enough  to  know,  the  more 
one  had  to  do,  all  one's  life  long.  Providence  always 
took  care  of  the  lame  and  the  lazy;  and,  besides,  those 
capable  people  never  had  contented  minds.  They  couldn't 
keep  servants :  their  own  fingers  were  always  itching  to  do 
things  better.  Her  sister  Effie  was  a  lamentable  instance. 
She'd  married  a  man, — well,  not  very  rich, — and  she  had 
set  out  to  learn  and  direct  everything.  The  consequence 
was,  she  was  like  Eve  after  the  apple, — she  knew  good 
and  evil;  and  wasn't  the  garden  just  a  wilderness  after 
that?  She  never  thought  of  it  before,  but  she  believed 
that  was  exactly  what  that  old  poem  in  Genesis  was 
written  for !  " 

How  Miss  Craydocke  answered,  with  her  gentle,  toler- 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  155 

ant  common -sense,  and  right  thought,  and  wide-awake 
brightness ;  how  the  Josselyns  grew  cordial  and  confident 
enough  to  confess  that,  with  five  little  children  in  the 
house,  there  wasn't  a  great  necessity  for  laying  up  against 
a  rainy  day,  and  with  stockings  at  a  dollar  and  a  half  a 
pair,  one  was  apt  to  get  the  nine  stitches,  or  a  pretty 
comfortable  multiple  of  them,  every  Wednesday  when  the 
wash  came  in;  and  how  these  different  kinds  of  lives, 
coming  together  with  a  friendly  friction,  found  them 
selves  n_>t  so  uncongenial,  or  so  incomprehensible  to  each 
other,  after  all; — all  this,  in  its  detail  of  bright  words, 
I  cannot  stop  to  tell  you;  it  would  take  a  good  many 
summers  to  go  through  one  like  this  so  fully;  but  when 
the  big  bell  rang  for  dinner,  they  all  came  down  the  ledge 
together,  and  Sue  and  Martha  Josselyn,  for  the  first  time 
in  four  weeks,  felt  themselves  fairly  one  with  the  cur 
rent  interest  and  life  of  the  gay  house  in  which  they  had 
been  dwellers  and  yet  only  lookers-on. 

Mrs.  Thoresby,  coming  down  to  dinner,  a  few  minutes 
late,  with  her  daughters,  and  pausing — as  people  always 
did  at  the  Green  Cottage,  without  knowing  why — to 
step  from  the  foot  of  the  stairway  to  the  open  piazza-door, 
and  glance  out  before  turning  toward  the  dining-room, 
saw  the  ledge  party  just  dividing  itself  into  its  two  little 
streams,  that  were  to  head,  respectively,  for  cottage  and 
hotel. 

"  It  is  a  wonder  to  me  that  Mrs.  Linceford  allows  it !  " 
was  her  comment.  "  Just  the  odds  and  ends  of  all  the 
company  here.  And  those  girls,  who  might  take  what 
ever  stand  they  pleased !  " 

"  Miss  Leslie  always  finds  out  the  nicest  people,  and 


156  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

the  best  times,  I  think,"  said  Etty,  who  had  dragged 
through  but  a  dull  morning  behind  the  blinds  of  her 
mother's  window,  puzzling  over  crochetj — which  she 
hated,  because  she  said  it  was  like  everlastingly  poking 
one's  finger  after  a  sliver, — and  had  caught,  now  and 
then,  over  the  still  air,  the  laughter  and  bird-notes  that 
came  together  from  among  the  pines.  One  of  the  Miss 
Haughtleys  had  sat  with  them ;  but  that  only  "  stiffened 
out  the  dulness,"  as  Etty  had  declared,  the  instant  the 
young  lady  left  them. 

"  Don't  be  pert,  Etty.  You  don't  know  what  you 
want,  or  what  is  for  your  interest.  The  Haddens  were 
well  enough,  by  themselves;  but  when  it  comes  to  Tom, 
Dick,  and  Harry !  " 

"  I  don't  believe  that's  elegant,  mamma,"  said  Etty, 
demurely ;  "  and  there  isn't  Tom,  Dick,  nor  Harry ; 
only  Dakie  Thayne,  and  that  nice,  nice  Miss  Craydocke ! 
And — I  hate  the  Haughtleys !  "  This  with  a  sudden 
explosiveness  at  the  last,  after  the  demureness. 

"  Etty !  "  and  Mrs.  Thoresby  intoned  an  indescribable 
astonishment  of  displeasure  in  her  utterance  of  her  daugh 
ter's  name.  "  Remember  yourself.  You  are  neither  to 
be  impertinent  to  me,  nor  to  speak  rudely  of  persons 
whom  I  choose  for  your  acquaintance.  When  you  are 
older,  you  will  come  to  understand  how  these  chance 
meetings  may  lead  to  the  most  valuable  friendships,  or, 
on  the  contrary,  to  the  most  mortifying  embarrassments. 
In  the  meantime,  you  are  to  be  guided."  After  which 
little  sententious  homily  out  of  the  Book  of  the  World, 
Mrs.  Thoresby  ruffled  herself  with  dignity,  and  led  her 
brood  away  with  her. 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  157 

Next  day,  Tom,  Dick,  and  Harry — that  is  to  say, 
Miss  Craydocke,  Susan  and  Martha  Josselyn,  and  Leslie 
Goldthwaite — were  gathered  in  the  first-named  lady's 
room,  to  make  the  great  green  curtain.  And  there  Sin 
Saxon  came  in  upon  them, — ostensibly  to  bring  the  cur 
tain-rings,  and  explain  how  she  wanted  them  put  on ;  but 
after  that  she  lingered. 

"  It's  like  the  Tower  of  Babel  upstairs,"  she  said, 
"  and  just  about  as  likely  ever  to  get  built.  I  can't  bear 
to  stay  where  I  can't  hear  myself  talk.  You're  nice  and 
cosy  here,  Miss  Craydocke."  And,  with  that,  she  set 
tled  herself  down  on  the  floor,  with  all  her  little  ruffles 
and  flounces  and  billows  of  muslin  heaping  and  curling 
themselves  about  her,  till  her  pretty  head  and  shoulders 
were  like  a  new  and  charming  sort  of  floating-island  in 
the  midst. 

And  it  came  to  pass  that  presently  the  talk  drifted 
round  to  vanities  and  vexations, — on  this  wise. 

"  Everybody  wants  to  be  everything,"  said  Sin  Saxon. 
"  They  don't  say  so,  of  course.  But  they  keep  objecting, 
and  unsettling.  Nothing  hushes  anybody  up  but  propos 
ing  them  for  some  especially  magnificent  part.  And  you 
can't  hush  them  all  at  once  in  that  way.  If  they'd  only 
say  what  they  want,  and  be  done  with  it !  But  they're 
so  dreadfully  polite !  Only  finding  out  continual  reasons 
why  nobody  will  do  for  this  and  that,  or  have  time  to 
dress,  or  something,  and  waiting  modestly  to  be  sug 
gested  and  shut  up!  When  I  came  down  they  were  in 
full  tilt  about  the  Lady  of  Shalott.  It's  to  be  one  of  the 
crack  scenes,  you  know, — river  of  blue  cambric,  and  a 
real,  regular,  lovely  property-boat.  Frank  Scherman 


158  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

sent  for  it,  and  it  came  up  on  the  stage  yesterday, — 
drivers  swearing  all  the  way.  Now  they'll  go  on  for 
half  an  hour,  at  least ;  and  at  the  end  of  that  time  I  shall 
walk  in — upon  the  plain  of  Shinar — with  my  hair  all 
let  down, — it's  real,  every  bit  of  it,  not  a  tail  tied  on 
anywhere, — and  tell  them,  I — myself — am  to  be  the 
Lady  of  Shalott !  I  think  I  shall  relish  flinging  in  that 
little  hit  of  honesty, — like  a  dash  of  cold  water  into  the 
middle  of  a  fry.  Won't  it  sizzle  ?  " 

She  sat  twirling  the  cord  upon  which  the  dozens  of 
great  brass  rings  were  strung,  watching  the  shining  ellipse 
they  made  as  they  revolved, — like  a  child  set  down  upon 
the  carpet  with  a  plaything, — expecting  no  answer,  only 
waiting  for  the  next  vagrant  whimsicality  that  should 
come  across  her  brain, — not  altogether  without  method, 
either, — to  give  it  utterance. 

"  I  don't  suppose  I  could  convince  you  of  it,"  she  re 
sumed  ;  "  but  I  do  actually  have  serious  thoughts  some 
times.  I  think  that  very  likely  some  of  us — most  of 
us — are  going  to  the  dogs.  And  I  wonder  what  it  will 
be  when  we  get  there.  Why  don't  you  contradict — or 
confirm — what  I  say,  Miss  Craydocke  ?  " 

"  You  haven't  said  out,  yet,  have  you  ?  " 

Sin  Saxon  opened  wide  her  great,  wondering,  saucy 
blue  eyes,  and  turned  them  full  upon  Miss  Craydocke's 
face.  "  Well,  you  are  a  oner !  as  somebody  in  Dickens 
says.  There's  no  such  thing  as  a  leading  question  for 
you.  It's  like  the  rope  the  dog  slipped  his  head  out  of, 
and  left  the  man  holding  fast  at  the  other  end,  in  touch 
ing  confidence  that  he  was  coming  on.  I  saw  that  once 
on  Broadway.  Now  I  experience  it.  I  suppose  I've 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  159 

got  to  say  more.  Well,  then,  in  a  general  way,  do  you 
think  living  amounts  to  anything,  Miss  Craydocke  ?  " 

"Whose  living?" 

t'  Sharp — as  a  knife  that's  just  cut  through  a  lemon ! 
Ours,  then,  if  you  please ;  us  girls :  for  instance." 

"  You  haven't  done  much  of  your  living  yet,  my  dear." 
The  tone  was  gentle,  as  of  one  who  looked  down  from 
such  a  height  of  years  that  she  felt  tenderly  the  climbing 
that  had  been,  for  those  who  had  it  yet  to  do. 

"  We're  as  busy  at  it,  too,  as  we  can  be.  But  some 
times  I've  mistrusted  something  like  what  I  discovered 
very  indignantly  one  day  when  I  was  four  years  old,  and 
fancied  I  was  making  a  petticoat,  sewing  through  and 
through  a  bit  of  flannel.  The  thread  hadn't  any  knot 
in  it!" 

"  That  was  very  well,  too,  until  you  knew  just  where 
to  put  the  stitches  that  should  stay." 

"  Which  brings  us  to  our  subject  of  the  morning,  as  the 
sermons  say  sometimes,  when  they're  half  through,  or 
ought  to  be.  There  are  all  kinds  of  stitches, — embroid 
ery,  and  plain  over-and-over,  and  whippings,  and  darns ! 
When  are  we  to  make  our  knot  and  begin?  and  which 
kind  are  we  to  do  ? " 

"  Most  lives  find  occasion,  more  or  less,  for  each. 
Practised  fingers  will  know  how  to  manage  all." 

"  But — it's — the — proportion !  "  cried  Sin,  in  a  cres 
cendo  that  ended  with  an  emphasis  that  was  nearly  a 
little  scream. 

"  I  think  that,  when  one  looks  to  what  is  really  needed 
most  and  first,  will  arrange  itself,"  said  Miss  Craydocke. 
"  Something  gets  crowded  out,  with  us  all.  It  depends 


160  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

upon  what,  and  how,  and  with  what  willingness  we  let  it 
go." 

"  Now  we  come  to  the  superlative  sort  of  people, — the 
extra  good  ones,  who  let  everything  go  that  isn't  solid 
duty;  all  the  ornament  of  life, — good  looks, — tidiness 
even, — and  everything  that's  the  least  bit  jolly,  and  that 
don't  keep  your  high-mindedness  on  the  strain.  I  want 
to  be  Zow-minded — weak-minded,  at  least, — now  and 
then.  I  can't  bear  ferociously  elevated  people,  who  won't 
say  a  word  that  don't  count ;  people  that  talk  about  their 
time  being  interrupted,  (as  if  their  time  wasn't  every 
body  else's  time,  too,)  because  somebody  comes  in  once 
in  a  while  for  a  friendly  call ;  and  who  go  about  the 
streets  as  if  they  were  so  intent  upon  some  tremendous 
good  work,  or  big  thinking,  that  it  would  be  dangerous 
even  to  bow  to  a  common  sinner,  for  fear  of  being  way 
laid  and  hindered.  I  know  people  like  that ;  and  all  I've 
to  say  is,  that,  if  they're  to  make  up  the  heavenly  circles, 
I'd  full  as  lief  go  down  lower,  where  they're  kind  of 
social !  " 

There  can  scarcely  be  a  subject  touched,  in  ever  so  light 
a  way, — especially  a  moral  or  a  spiritual  subject, — in 
however  small  a  company  of  persons,  that  shall  not  set 
in  motion  varied  and  intense  currents  of  thought, — bear 
diverse  and  searching  application  to  consciousness  and  ex 
perience.  The  Josselyns  sat  silent  with  the  long  breadths 
of  green  cambric  over  their  laps,  listening  with  an  amuse 
ment  that  freshened  into  their  habitual  work-day  mood, 
like  a  wilful  little  summer  breeze  born  out  of  blue  morn 
ing  skies,  unconscious  of  clouds,  to  the  oddities  of  £>in 
Saxon;  but  the  drift  of  her  sayings,  the  meaning  she 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  161 

actually  had  under  them,  bore  down  upon  their  different 
knowledge  with  a  significance  whose  sharpness  she  had 
no  dream  of.  "  Plain  over-and-over," — how  well  it  il 
lustrated  what  their  young  days  and  the  disposal  of  them 
had  been!  Miss  Oaydocke  thought  of  the  darns;  her- 
story  cannot  be  told  here;  but  she  knew  what  it  meant 
to  have  the  darns  of  life  fall  to  one's  share, — to  have  the 
filling  up  to  do,  with  dextrousness  and  pains  and  sacrifice, 
of  holes  that  other  people  make ! 

For  Leslie  Goldthwaite  she  got  the  next  word  of  the 
lesson  she  was  learning, — "  It  depends  on  what  one  is 
willing  to  let  get  crowded  out." 

Sin  Saxon  went  on  again. 

"  I've  had  a  special  disgust  given  me  to  superiority.  I 
wouldn't  be  superior  for  all  the  world.  We  had  a  supe 
rior  specimen  come  among  us  at  Highslope  last  year. 
She's  there  yet,  it's  commonly  believed;  but  nobody 
takes  the  trouble  to  be  positive  of  it.  Reason  why,  she 
took  up  immediately  such  a  position  of  mental  and  moral 
altitude  above  our  heads,  and  became  so  sublimely  uncon 
scious  of  all  beneath,  that  all  beneath  wasn't  going  to 
strain  its  neck  to  look  after  her,  much  less  provide  itself* 
with  telescopes.  We're  pretty  nice  people,  we  think  j. 
but  we're  not  particularly  curious  in  astronomy.  We- 
heard  great  things  of  her,  beforehand;  and  we  were 
all  ready  to  make  much  of  her.  We  asked  her  to  our 
parties.  She  came,  with  a  look  upon  her  as  if  some  un 
pleasant  duty  had  forced  her  temporarily  into  purgatory. 
She  shied  round  like  a  cat  in  a  strange  garret,  as  if  all 
she  wanted  was  to  get  out.  She  wouldn't  dance;  she 
wouldn't  talk;  she  went  home  early, — to  her  studies,  I. 


162  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

suppose,  and  her  plans  for  next  day's  unmitigated  useful 
ness.  She  took  it  for  granted  we  had  nothing  in  us  but 
dance,  and  so — as  Artemus  Ward  says — '  If  the  Ameri 
can  Eagle  could  solace  itself  in  that  way,  we  let  it  went !  ' 
She  might  have  done  some  good  to  us, — we  needed  to  be 
done  to,  I  don't  doubt, — but  it's  all  over  now.  That 
light  is  under  a  bushel,  and  that  city's  hid,  so  far  as 
Highslope  is  concerned.  And  we've  pretty  much  made 
up  our  minds,  among  us,  to  be  bad  and  jolly.  Only 
•sometimes  I  get  thinking, — that's  all." 

She  got  up,  giving  the  string  of  rings  a  final  whirl,  and 
tossing  them  into  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  lap.  "  Good  by," 
she  said,  shaking  down  her  flounces.  "  It's  time  for  me 
to  go  and  assert  myself  at  Shinar.  f  Moi,  c'est  I'  Em 
pire  ! '  Napoleon  was  great  when  he  said  that.  A  great 
deal  greater  than  if  he'd  pretended  to  be  meek,  and  want 
nothing  but  the  public  good !  " 

"  What  gets  crowded  out  ?  "  Day  by  day  that  is  the 
great  test  of  our  life. 

Just  now,  everything  seemed  likely  to  get  crowded  out 
with  the  young  folks  at  Outledge,  but  dresses,  characters, 
and  rehearsals.  The  swivel  the  earth  turned  on  at  this 
moment  was  the  coming  Tuesday  evening  and  its  per 
formance.  And  the  central  axis  of  that,  to  nearly  every 
individual  interest,  was  what  such  particular  individual 
was  to  "  be." 

They  had  asked  Leslie  to  take  the  part  of  Zorayda  in 
the  Three  Moorish  Princesses  of  the  Alhambra.  Jeannie 
and  Elinor  were  to  be  Zayda  and  Zorahayda.  As  for 
Leslie,  she  liked  well  enough,  as  we  know,  to  look  pretty ; 
it  was,  or  had  been,  till  other  thoughts  of  late  had  begun 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  163 

to  "  crowd  it  out,"  something  like  a  besetting  weakness ; 
she  had  only  lately,  to  tell  the  whole  truth  as  it  seldom  is 
told,  begun  to  be  ashamed,  before  her  higher  self,  to  turn, 
the  first  thing  in  the  morning,  with  a  certain  half-me 
chanical  anxiety,  toward  her  glass,  to  see  how  she  was 
looking.  Without  studying  into  separate  causes  of  com 
plexion  and  so  forth,  as  older  women  given  to  these  things 
come  to  do,  she  knew  that  somehow  there  was  often  a 
difference ;  and  beside  the  standing  question  in  her  mind 
as  to  whether  there  were  a  chance  of  her  growing  up  to 
anything  like  positive  beauty  or  not,  there  was  apt  often 
to  be  a  reason  why  she  would  like  to-day,  if  possible,  to 
be  in  particular  good  looks.  When  she  got  an  invita 
tion,  or  an  excursion  was  planned,  the  first  thing  that 
came  into  her  head  was  naturally  what  she  should  wear; 
and  a  good  deal  of  the  pleasure  would  depend  on  that. 
A  party  without  an  especially  pretty  dress  didn't  amount 
to  much ;  she  couldn't  help  that ;  it  did  count  with  every 
body,  and  it  made  a  difference.  She  would  like,  un 
doubtedly,  a  "  pretty  part  "  in  these  tableaux ;  but  there 
was  more  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite,  even  without  touching 
upon  the  deep  things,  than  all  this.  Only  a  pretty  part 
did  not  quite  satisfy:  she  had  capacity  for  something 
more.  In  spite  of  the  lovely  Moorish  costume  to  be  con 
trived  out  of  blue  silk  and  white  muslin,  and  to  contrast 
so  picturesquely  with  JeanmVs  crimson,  and  the  soft, 
snowry  drapery  of  Elinor,  she  would  have  been  half  will 
ing  to  be  the  "  discreet  Kadiga  "  instead ;  for  the  old 
woman  had  really  to  look  something  as  well  as  somehow, 
and  there  was  a  spirit  and  a  fun  in  that. 

The  pros  and  cons  and  possibilities  were  working  them- 


164  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthvvaite's  Life. 

selves  gradually  clear  to  her  thoughts,  as  she  sat  and 
listened,  with  external  attention  in  the  beginning,  to  Sin 
Saxon's  chatter.  Ideas  about  the  adaptation  of  her  dress- 
material,  and  the  character  she  could  bring  out  of,  or  get 
into,  her  part,  mingled  themselves  together ;  and  Irving's 
delicious  old  legend  that  she  had  read  hundreds  of  times, 
entranced,  as  a  child,  repeated  itself  in  snatches  to  her 
recollection.  Jeannie  must  be  stately;  that  would  quite 
suit  her.  Elinor — must  just  be  Elinor.  Then  the  airs 
and  graces  remained  for  herself.  She  thought  she  could 
illustrate  with  some  spirit  the  latent  coquetry  of  the  im 
prisoned  beauty ;  she  believed,  notwithstanding  the  fash 
ion  in  which  the  story  measured  out  their  speech  in  ra 
tions, — always  an  appropriate  bit,  and  just  so  much  of 
it  to  each, — that  the  gay  Zorayda  must  have  had  the 
principal  hand  in  their  affairs, — must  have  put  the  others 
up  to  mischief,  and  coaxed  most  winningly  the  discreet 
Kadiga.  She  could  make  something  out  of  it :  it  shouldn't 
be  mere  flat  prettiness.  She  began  to  congratulate  her 
self  upon  the  character.  And  then  her  ingenious  fancy 
flew  off  to  something  else  that  had  occurred  to  her,  and 
that  she  had  only  secretly  proposed  to  Sin  Saxon, — an  il 
lustration  of  a  certain  ancient  nursery  ballad,  to  vary  by 
contrast  the  pathetic  representations  of  Auld  Robin  Gray 
and  the  Lady  of  Shalott.  It  was  a  bright  plan,  and  she 
was  nearly  sure  she  could  carry  it  out;  but  it  was  not  a 
"  pretty  part,"  and  Sin  Saxon  had  thought  it  fair  she 
should  have  one ;  therefore  Zorayda.  All  this  was  reason 
why  Leslie's  brain  was  busy,  like  her  fingers,  as  she  sat 
and  sewed  on  the  green  curtain,  and  let  Sin  Saxon  talk. 
Till  Miss  Craydocke  said  that,  "  Something  always  gets 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  165 

crowded  out,"  and  so  those  words  came  to  her  in  the 
midst  of  all. 

The  Josseljns  went  away  to  their  own  room  when  the 
last  rings  had  been  sewn  on;  and  the  curtain  was  ready, 
as  had  been  promised,  at  ten  o'clock.  Leslie  stayed, 
waiting  for  Dakie  Thayne  to  come  and  fetch  it.  While 
she  sat  there,  silent,  by  the  window,  Miss  Craydocke 
brought  out  a  new  armful  of  something  from  a  drawer, 
and  came  and  placed  her  Shaker  rocking-chair  beside  her. 
Leslie  looked  round,  and  saw  her  lap  full  of  two  little 
bright  plaid  dresses. 

"  It's  only  the  button-holes,"  said  Miss  Craydocke. 
"  I'm  going  to  make  them  now,  before  they  find  me 
out." 

Leslie  looked  very  uncomprehending. 

"  You  didn't  suppose  I  let  those  girls  come  in  here  and 
spend  their  morning  on  that  nonsense  for  nothing,  did 
you?  This  is  some  of  their  work, — the  work  that's 
crowding  all  the  frolic  out  of  their  lives.  I've  found  out 
where  they  keep  it,  and  I've  stolen  some.  I'm  Scotch, 
you  know,  and  I  believe  in  brownies.  They're  good  to 
believe  in.  Old  fables  are  generally  all  but  true.  You've 
only  to  '  put  in  one  to  make  it  so,'  as  children  say  in  '  odd 
and  even.' '  And  Miss  Craydocke  overcasted  her  first 
button-hole  energetically. 

Leslie  Goldthwaite  saw  through  the  whole  now,  in  a 
minute.  "  You  did  it  on  purpose,  for  an  excuse !  "  she 
said;  and  there  was  a  ring  of  applauding  delight  in  her 
voice  which  a  note  of  admiration  poorly  marks. 

"  Well,  you  must  begin  somehow,"  said  Miss  Cray 
docke.  "  And  after  you've  once  begun,  you  can  keep 


166  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthvvaite's  Life. 

on."  Which,  as  a  generality,  was  not  so  glittering,  per 
haps,  as  might  be;  but  Leslie  could  imagine,  with  a 
warm  heart-throb,  what,  in  this  case,  Miss  Craydocke's 
"  keeping  on  "  would  be. 

"  I  found  them  out  by  degrees,"  said  Miss  Craydocke. 
"  They've  been  overhead  here,  this  month  nearly,  and 
if  you  don't  listen  nor  look  more  than  is  ladylike,  you 
can't  help  scraps  enough  to  piece  something  out  of  by 
that  time.  They  sit  by  their  window,  and  I  sit  by  mine. 
I  cough,  and  sneeze,  and  sing,  as  much  as  I  find  comfort 
able,  and  they  can't  help  knowing  where  their  neighbors 
are ;  and  after  that,  it's  their  look-out,  of  course.  I  lent 
them  some  books  one  Sunday,  and  so  we  got  on  a  sort  of 
visiting  terms,  and  lately  I've  gone  in,  sometimes,  and 
sat  down  awhile  when  I've  had  an  errand,  and  they've 
been  here;  and  the  amount  of  it  is,  they're  two  young 
things  that'll  grow  old  before  they  know  they've  ever 
been  young,  if  somebody  don't  take  hold.  They've 
only  got  just  so  much  time  to  stay ;  and  if  we  don't  con 
trive  a  holiday  for  them  before  it's  over,  why, — there's 
the  '  Inasmuch,' — that's  all." 

Dakie  Thayne  came  to  the  door  to  fetch  Leslie  and 
the  curtain. 

"  It's  all  ready,  Dakie, — here ;  but  I  can't  go  just 
now,  or  not  unless  they  want  me  very  much,  and  then 
you'll  come,  please,  won't  you,  and  let  me  know  again  ?  " 
said  Leslie,  bundling  up  the  mass  of  cambric,  and  piling 
it  upon  Dakie's  arms. 

Dakie  looked  disappointed,  but  promised,  and  de 
parted.  They  were  finding  him  useful  upstairs,  ajid 
Leslie  had  begged  him  to  help. 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  167 

"  Now  give  me  that  other  dress,"  she  said,  turning  to 
Miss  Oaydocke.  "  And  you, — couldn't  you  go  and 
steal  something  else  ?  "  She  spoke  impetuously,  and  her 
eyes  shone  with  eagerness,  and  more. 

"  I've  had  to  lay  a  plan,"  resumed  Miss  Craydocke,  as 
Leslie  took  the  measure  of  a  button-hole  and  began. 
"  Change  of  work  is  as  good  as  a  rest.  So  I've  had 
them  down  here  on  the  curtain  among  the  girls.  Next, 
I'm  going  to  have  a  bee.  I've  got  some  things  to  finish 
up  for  Prissy  Hoskins,  and  they're  likely  to  be  wanted  in 
something  of  a  hurry.  She's  got  another  aunt  in  Ports 
mouth,  and  if  she  can  only  be  provided  with  proper 
things  to  wear,  she  can  go  down  there,  Aunt  Hoskins 
says,  and  stay  all  winter,  get  some  schooling,  and  see  a 
city  doctor.  The  man  here  tells  them  that  something 
might  be  done  for  her  hearing  by  a  person  skilled  in  such 
things,  and  Mrs.  Hoskins  says,  l  There's  a  little  money 
of  the  child's  own,  from  the  vandoo  when  her  father 
died,'  that  would  pay  for  travelling  and  advice,  and  'ef 
the  right  sort  ain't  to  be  had  in  Portsmouth,  when  she 
once  gets  started,  she  shall  go  whuzzever't  is,  if  she  has 
to  have  a  vandoo  herself ! '  It's  a  whole  human  life  of 
comfort  and  usefulness,  Leslie  Goldthwaite,  may  be,  that 
depends! — Well,  I'll  have  a  bee,  and  get  Prissy  fixed 
out.  Her  Portsmouth  aunt  is  coming  up,  and  will  take 
her  back.  She'll  give  her  a  welcome,  but  she's  poor 
herself,  and  can't  afford  much  more.  And  then  the 
Josselyns  are  to  have  a  bee.  Not  everybody;  but  you 
and  me,  and  we'll  see  by  that  time  who  else.  It's  to 
begin  as  if  we  meant  to  have  them  all  round,  for  the 


i68  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

frolic  and  the  sociability ;  and  besides  that,  we'll  steal  all 
we  can.  For  jour  part,  you  must  get  intimate.  No 
body  can  do  anything,  except  as  a  friend.  And  the  last 
week  they're  here  is  the  very  week  I'm  going  every 
where  in !  I'm  going  to  charter  the  little  red,  and  have 
parties  of  my  own.  We'll  have  a  picnic  at  the  Cliff, 
and  Prissy  will  wait  on  us  with  raspberries  and  cream. 
We'll  walk  up  Feather-Cap,  and  ride  up  Giant's  Cairn, 
and  we'll  have  a  sunset  at  Minster  Rock.  And  it's  go 
ing  to  be  pleasant  weather  every  day !  " 

They  stitched  away,  then,  dropping  their  talk.  Miss 
Craydocke  was  out  of  breath;  and  Leslie  measured  her 
even  loops  with  eyes  that  glittered  more  and  more. 

The  half-dozen  button-holes  apiece  were  completed; 
and  then  Miss  Craydocke  trotted  off  with  the  two  little 
frocks  upon  her  arm.  She  came  back,  bringing  some 
two  or  three  pairs  of  cotton-flannel  drawers. 

"  I  took  them  up,  just  as  they  lay,  cut  out  and  ready, 
on  the  bed.  I  wouldn't  have  a  word.  I  told  them  I'd 
nothing  to  do,  and  so  I  haven't.  My  hurry  is  coming 
on  all  of  a  sudden  when  I  have  my  bee.  Now  I've  done 
it  once,  I  can  do  it  again.  They'll  find  out  it's  my  way, 
and  when  you've  once  set  up  a  way,  people  always  turn 
out  for  it." 

Miss  Craydocke  was  in  high  glee. 

Leslie  stitched  up  three  little  legs  before  Dakie  came 
again,  and  said  they  must  have  her  upstairs. 

One  thing  occurred  to  her,  as  they  ran  along  the  wind 
ing  passages,  up  and  down,  and  up  again,  to  the  new  hall 
in  the  far-off  L. 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.   169 

The  Moorish  dress  would  take  so  long  to  arrange. 
Wouldn't  Imogen  Thoresby  like  the  part.  She  was  only 
in  the  Three  Fishers.  Imogen  and  Jeannie  met  her  as 
she  came  in. 

"  It  is  just  you  I  wanted  to  find,"  cried  Leslie,  sealing 
her  warm  impulse  with  immediate  act.  "  Will  you  be 
Zorayda,  Imogen, — with  Jeannie  and  Elinor,  you 
know  ?  I've  got  so  much  to  do  without.  Sin  Saxon 
understands;  it's  a  bit  of  a  secret  as  yet.  I  shall  be  so 
obliged !  " 

Imogen's  blue  eyes  sparkled  and  widened.  It  was  just 
what  she  had  been  secretly  longing  for.  But  why  in  the 
world  should  Leslie  Goldthwaite  want  to  give  it  up? 

It  had  got  crowded  out,  that  was  all. 

Another  thing  kept  coming  into  Leslie's  head  that  day ; 
— the  yards  of  delicate  grass-linen  that  she  had  hem 
stitched,  and  knotted  into  bands  that  summer, — just  for 
idle-work,  when  plain  bindings  and  simple  ruffling  would 
have  done  as  well, — and  all  for  her  accumulating  treas 
ure  of  reserved  robings,  while  here  were  these  two  girls 
darning  stockings,  and  sewing  over  heavy  woolen  stuffs, 
that  actual,  inevitable  work  might  be  despatched  in  these 
bright,  warm  hours  that  had  been  meant  for  holiday.  It 
troubled  her  to  think  of  it,  seeing  that  the  time  was  gone, 
and  nothing  now  but  these  threads  and  holes  remained  of 
it  to  her  share. 

Martha  Josselyn  had  asked  her  yesterday  about  the 

stitch, — some  little  baby-daintiness  she  !had  thought  of 

for  the  mother  who  couldn't  afford  embroideries  and 

thread-laces  for  her  youngest  and  least  of  so  many.     Les- 

,  lie  would  go  and  show  her,  and,  as  Miss  Craydocke  said, 


170  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

get  intimate.    It  was  true  there  were  certain  little  things 
one  could  not  do,  except  as  a  friend. 

Meanwhile,  Martha  Josselyn  must  be  the  Sister  of 
Charity  in  that  lovely  tableau  of  Consolation. 

It  does  not  take  long  for  two  young  girls  to  grow  in 
timate  over  tableau  plans  and  fancy  stitches.  Two  days 
after  this,  Leslie  Goldthwaite  was  as  cosily  established  in 
the  Josselyns'  room  as  if  she  had  been  there  every  day 
all  summer.  Some  people  are  like  drops  of  quicksilver, 
as  Martha  Josselyn  had  declared,  only  one  can't  tell  how 
that  is  till  one  gets  out  of  the  bottle. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said  to  Leslie,  as  she  mastered  the 
little  intricacy  of  the  work  upon  the  experimental  scrap 
of  cambric  she  had  drawn.  "  I  understand  it  now,  I 
think,  and  I  shall  find  time,  somehow,  after  I  get  home, 
for  what  I  want  to  do."  With  that,  she  laid  it  in  a  cor 
ner  of  her  basket,  and  took  up  cotton-flannel  again. 

Leslie  put  something,  twisted  lightly  in  soft  paper,  be 
side  it.  "  I  want  you  to  keep  that,  please,  for  a  pattern, 
and  to  remember  me,"  she  said.  "  I've  made  yards 
more  than  I  really  want.  It's  nothing,"  she  added, 
hastily  interrupting  the  surprised  and  remonstrating 
thanks  of  the  other.  "  And  now  we  must  see  about 
that  scapulary  thing,  or  whatever  it  is,  for  your  nun's 
dress." 

And  there  was  no  more  about  it,  only  an  unusual  feel 
ing  in  Martha  Josselyn's  heart,  that  came  up  warm  long 
after,  and  by  and  by  a  little  difference  among  Leslie  Gold 
thwaite's  pretty  garnishings,  where  something  had  got 
crowded  out. 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  171 

This  is  the  way,  from  small  to  great,  things  sort  them 
selves. 

"  No  man  can  serve  two  masters,"  is  as  full  and  true 
and  strong  upon  the  side  of  encouragement  as  of  re 
buke. 


172  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 


THE  tableaux  had  to  be  put  off.  Frank  Scherman 
was  obliged  to  go  down  to  Boston,  unexpectedly,  to 
attend  to  business,  and  nothing  could  be  done  without 
him.  The  young  girls  felt  all  the  reaction  that  comes 
with  the  sudden  interruption  of  eager  plans.  A  stagna 
tion  seemed  to  succeed  to  their  excitement  and  energy. 
They  were  thrown  back  into  a  vacuum. 

"  There  is  nothing  on  earth  to  do,  or  to  think  about," 
said  Florrie  Arnall,  dolefully. 

"  Just  as  much  as  there  was  last  week,"  replied  Josie 
Scherman,  common-sense-ically.  Frank  was  only  her 
brother,  and  that  made  a  difference.  "  There's  Giant's 
Cairn  as  big  as  ever,  and  Feather-Cap,  and  Minster  Rock, 
and  the  Spires.  And  there's  plenty  to  do.  Tableaux 
aren't  everything.  There's  your  l  howl,'  Sin  Saxon. 
That  hasn't  come  off  yet." 

"  '  It  isn't  the  fall  that  hurts, — it's  the  fetch-up,'  as 
the  Irishman  observed,"  said  Sin  Saxon,  with  a  yawn. 
"  It  wasn't  that  I  doted  particularly  on  the  tableaux, 
but  '  the  waters  wild  went  o'er  my  child,  and  I  was  left 
lamenting.'  It  was  what  I  happened  to  be  after  at  the 
moment.  When  I  get  ready  for  a  go,  I  do  hate  to  take 
off  my  bonnet  and  sit  down  at  home." 

"  But  the  '  howl,'  Sin !     What's  to  become  of  that  ?  " 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  173 

"  Ain't  I  howling  all  I  can  ?  " 

And  this  was  all  Sin  Saxon  would  say  about  it.  The 
girls  meant  to  keep  her  in  mind,  and  to  have  their  frolic. 
— the  half  of  them  in  the  most  imaginative  ignorance 
as  to  what  it  might  prove  to  be ;  but  somehow  their  leader 
herself  seemed  to  have  lost  her  enthusiasm  or  her  inten 
tion. 

Leslie  Goldthwaite  felt  neither  disappointment  nor  im 
patience.  She  had  got  a  permanent  interest.  It  is  good 
always  to  have  something  to  fall  back  upon.  The  tab 
leaux  would  come  by  and  by;  meanwhile,  there  was 
plenty  of  time  for  their  "  bees,"  and  for  the  Cliff. 

They  had  long  mornings  in  the  pines,  and  cool,  quiet 
afternoons  in  Miss  Craydocke's  pretty  room.  It  was 
wonderful  the  cleverness  the  Josselyns  had  come  to  with 
little  frocks.  One  a  skirt,  and  the  other  a  body, — they 
made  nothing  of  finishing  the  whole  at  a  sitting.  "  It's 
only  seeing  the  end  from  the  beginning,"  Martha  said, 
when  Leslie  uttered  her  astonishment.  "  We  know  the 
way,  right  through ;  and  no  way  seems  long  when  you've 
travelled  it  often."  To  be  sure,  Prissy  Hoskins's  de 
laines  and  calicoes  didn't  need  to  be  contrived  after 
Demorest's  fashion-plates. 

Then  they  had  their  holiday,  taking  the  things  over  to 
the  Cliff,  and  trying  them  all  on  Prissy,  very  much  as  if 
they  had  been  a  party  of  children,  and  she  a  paper  doll. 
Her  rosy  little  face  and  wilful  curls  came  out  of  each 
prettier  than  the  last,  precisely  as  a  paper  dolly's  does, 
and  when  at  the  end  of  all  they  got  her  into  a  bright 
violet  print  and  a  white  bib-apron,  it  was  well  they  were 
the  last,  for  they  couldn't  have  had  the  heart  to  take 


174  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

her  out  of  them.  Leslie  had  made  for  her  a  small  hoop, 
from  the  upper  half  of  one  of  her  own,  and  laced  a  little 
cover  upon  it,  of  striped  seersucker,  of  which  there  was  a 
petticoat  also  to  wear  above.  These,  clear,  clean,  and 
stiffened,  came  from  Miss  Craydocke's  stores.  She 
never  travelled  without  her  charity-trunk,  wherein — put 
at  once  in  perfect  readiness  for  different  use  the  mo 
ment  they  passed  beyond  her  own — she  kept  all  spare 
material  that  waited  for  such  call.  Breadths  of  old 
dresses,  ripped  and  sponged  and  pressed,  or  starched, 
ironed,  and  folded;  flannel  petticoats  shrunken  short; 
stockings  "  cut  down  "  in  the  old,  thrifty,  grandmother 
fashion;  underclothing  strongly  patched  (as  she  said,  the 
"  Lord's  mark  put  upon  it,  since  it  had  pleased  him  to 
give  her  the  means  to  do  without  patches  ")  ;  odds  and 
ends  of  bonnet-ribbons,  dipped  in  spirits  and  rolled  tightly 
upon  blocks,  from  which  they  unrolled  nearly  as  good  as 
new; — all  these  things,  and  more,  religiously  made  the 
most  of  for  whomsoever  they  might  first  benefit,  went 
about  with  her  in  this,  the  biggest  of  her  boxes,  which, 
give  out  from  it  as  she  might,  she  never  seemed,  she  said, 
to  get  quite  to  the  bottom  of. 

Under  the  rounded  skirts,  below  the  short,  plain  trous 
ers,  Prissy's  ankles  and  feet  were  made  shapely  with 
white  stockings  and  new,  stout  boots.  (Aunt  Hoskins 
believed  in  "  white  stockin's,  or  go  athout.  Bilin'  an' 
bleachin'  an'  comin'  out  new ;  none  o'  yer  aggravations  V 
everlastin'  dirt-color.")  And  one  thing  more,  the  pret 
tiest  of  all.  A  great  net  of  golden-brown  silk  that  Leslie 
had  begged  Mrs.  Linceford,  who  liked  netting,  to  make, 
gathered  into  strong,  large  meshes  the  unruly  wealth  of 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  175 

hair  brushed  back  in  rippling  lines  from  Prissy's  temples, 
and  showing  so  its  brighter,  natural  color  from  under 
neath,  where  the  outside  had  grown  sun-faded. 

"  I'm  just  like  Cinderella, — with  four  godmothers !  " 
cried  the  child;  and  she  danced  up  and  down,  as  Leslie 
let  her  go  from  under  her  hands. 

"  You're  just  like — a  little  heathen !  "  screamed  Aunt 
Hoskins.  "  Where's  yer  thanks  ? "  Her  own  thanks 
spoke  themselves,  partly  in  an  hysterical  sort  of  chuckle 
and  sniffle,  that  stopped  each  other  short,  and  the  rebuke 
with  them.  "  But  there !  she  don't  know  no  better ! 
'Tain't  fer  every  day,  you  needn't  think.  It's  for  com 
pany  to-day,  an'  fer  Sundays,  an'  to  go  to  Portsmouth." 

"  Don't  spoil  it  for  her,  Mrs.  Hoskins.  Children  hate 
to  think  it  isn't  for  every  day,"  said  Leslie  Goldthwaite. 

But  the  child-antidote  to  that  was  also  ready. 

"  I  don't  care,"  cried  Prissy.  "  To-day's  a  great, 
long  day,  and  Sunday's  for  ever  and  ever,  and  Ports- 
mouth'll  be  always." 

"  Can't  yer  stop  ter  kerchy,  and  say — Luddolight'n 
massy,  I  dunno  what  to  tell  ye  ter  say !  "  And  Mrs. 
Hoskins  sniffled  and  gurgled  again,  and  gave  it  up. 

"  She  has  thanked  us,  I  think,"  said  Miss  Craydocke, 
in  her  simple  way,  "  when  she  called  us  God-mothers ! " 
The  word  came  home  to  her  good  heart.  God  had  given 
her,  the  lonely  woman,  the  larger  motherhood.  "  Broth 
ers,  and  sisters,  and  mothers !  "  She  thought  how  Christ 
traced  out  the  relationships,  and  claimed  them  even  to 
himself ! 

"  Now,  for  once,  you're  to  be  done  up.  That's  gen 
eral  order  number  two,"  Miss  Craydocke  said  to  the 


176  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

Josselyn  girls,  as  they  all  first  met  together  again  after 
the  Cliff  party.  "  We've  worked  together  till  we're 
friends.  And  so  there's  not  a  word  to  be  said.  We 
owe  you  time  that  we've  taken,  and  more  that  we  mean 
to  take  before  you  go.  I'll  tell  you  what  for,  when  it's 
necessary." 

It  was  a  nicer  matter  to  get  the  Josslyns  to  be  helped 
than  to  help.  It  was  not  easy  for  them  to  bring  forth 
their  breadths  and  their  linings,  and  their  braids  that 
were  to  be  pieced,  and  their  trimmings  that  were  to  be 
turned,  and  to  lay  bare  to  other  eyes  all  their  little  econ 
omies  of  contrivance ;  but  Miss  Craydocke  managed  it  by 
simple  straightforwardness, — by  not  behaving  as  if  there 
were  anything  to  be  glossed  over  or  ignored.  Instead  of 
hushing  up  about  economies,  she  brought  them  forward, 
and  gave  them  a  most  cheery  and  comfortable,  not  to  say 
dignified  air.  It  was  all  ordinary  matter  of  course, — 
the  way  everybody  did,  or  ought  to  do.  This  was  the 
freshest  end  of  this  breadth,  and  should  go  down;  this 
other  had  a  darn  that  might  be  cut  across,  and  a  straight 
piecing  made,  for  which  the  slope  of  the  skirt  would  al 
low, — she  should  do  it  so;  that  hem  might  be  taken  off 
altogether  and  a  new  one  turned;  this  was  a  very  nice 
trimming,  and  plenty  of  it,  and  the  wrong  side  was 
brighter  than  the  right;  she  knew  a  way  of  joining 
worsted  braid  that  never  showed, — you  might  have  a 
dozen  pieces  in  the  binding  of  a  skirt  and  not  be  noticed. 
This  little  blue  frock  had  no  trimming ;  they  would  finish 
that  at  home.  No,  the  prettiest  thing  in  the  world  for  it 
would  be  pipings  of  black  silk,  and  Miss  Craydocke  had 
some  bits  just  right  for  covering  cord,  thick  as  a  board, 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  177- 

big  enough  for  nothing  else;  and  out  they  came,  as  did 
many  another  thing,  without  remark,  from  her  bags  and 
baskets.  She  had  hooks  and  eyes,  and  button-fasteners,, 
when  these  gave  out;  she  used  from  her  own  cotton- 
spools  and  skeins  of  silk ;  she  had  tailors'  twist  for  but 
ton-holes,  and  large  black  cord  for  the  pipings ;  and  these 
were  but  working  implements,  like  scissors  and  thimble, 
— taken  for  granted,  without  count.  There  was  nothing 
on  the  surface  for  the  most  shrinking  delicacy  to  rub. 
against;  but  there  was  a  kindness  that  went  down  into, 
the  hearts  of  the  two  young  girls  continually. 

For  an  hour  or  two  at  least  each  day  they  sat  together  • 
so,  for  the  being  together.  The  work  was  "  taken  up." 
Dakie  Thayne  read  stories  to  them  sometimes;  Miss 
Craydocke  had  something  always  to  produce  and  to  sum 
mon  them  to  sit  and  hear, — some  sketch  of  strange  ad 
venture,  or  a  ghost-marvel,  or  a  bright,  spicy  magazine- 
essay;  or,  knowing  where  to  find  sympathizers  and 
helpers,  Dakie  would  rush  in  upon  them  uncalled,  with 
some  discovery,  or  want,  or  beautiful  thing  to  show  of  his 
own.  They  were  quite  a  little  coterie  by  themselves.  It 
shaped  itself  to  this  more  and  more. 

Leslie  did  not  neglect  her  own  party.  She  drove  and 
walked  with  Mrs.  Lincef ord,  and  was  ready  for  anything 
the  Haddens  really  wanted  of  her ;  but  M?s>.  Linceford 
napped  and  lounged  a  good  deal,  and.  could  spare  her 
then;  and  Jeannie  and  Elinor  seemed  somehow  to  feel 
the  want  of  her  less  than  they  had  done, — Elinor  un 
consciously  drawn  away  by  new  attraction,  Jeannie 
rather  of  a  purpose. 

I  am  afraid  I  cannot  call  it  anything  else  but  a  little- 


178  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

loss  of  caste  which  seemed  coming  to  Leslie  Goldthwaite 
just  now,  through  these  new  intimacies  of  hers.  "  Some 
thing  always  gets  crowded  out."  This,  too, — her  popu 
larity  among  the  first, — might  have  to  be,  perhaps,  one 
of  the  somethings. 

Kow  and  then  she  felt  it  so, — perceived  the  shade  of 
•difference  toward  her  in  the  tone  and  manner  of  these 
young  girls.  I  cannot  say  that  it  did  not  hurt  her  a 
little.  She  had  self-love,  of  course ;  yet,  for  all,  she  was 
loyal  to  the  more  generous  love, — to  the  truer  self-re 
spect.  If  she  could  not  have  both,  she  would  keep  the 
best.  There  came  to  be  a  little  pride  in  her  own  de 
meanor, — a  waiting  to  be  sought  again. 

"  I  can't  think  what  has  come  over  Les',"  said  Jeannie 
Hadden,  one  night,  on  the  piazza,  to  a  knot  of  girls. 
She  spoke  in  a  tone  at  once  apologetic  and  annoyed. 
"  She  was  always  up  to  anything  at  home.  I  thought 
she  meant  to  lead  us  all  off  here.  She  might  have  done 
almost  what  she  pleased." 

"  Everybody  likes  Leslie,"  said  Elinor. 

"  Why,  yes,  we  all  do,"  put  in  Mattie  Shannon. 
41  Only  she  will  take  up  queer  people,  you  see.  And — 
^vell,  they're  nice  enough,  I  suppose;  only  there's  never 
room  enough  for  everybody." 

"  I  thought  we  were  all  to  be  nowhere  when  she  first 
came.  There  was  something  about  her, — I  don't  know 
what, — not  wonderful,  but  taking.  '  Put  her  where 
you  pleased,  she  was  the  central  point  of  the  picture/ 
Frank  said."  This  came  from  Josie  Scherman. 

"  And  she's  just  dropped  all,  to  run  after  goodness 
knows  what  and  whom !  I  can't  see  through  her !  "  re- 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  179 

joined  Jeannie,  with  a  sort  of  finality  in  her  accent  that 
seemed  to  imply,  "  I  wash  my  hands  of  her,  and  won't 
be  supposed  accountable." 

"  Knew  ye  not,"  broke  in  a  gentle  voice,  "  that  she 
must  be  about  her  Master's  business  ?  "  It  was  scarcely 
addressed  to  them.  Miss  Craydocke  just  breathed  au 
dibly  the  thought  she  could  not  help. 

There  came  a  downfall  of  silence  upon  the  group. 

When  they  took  breath  again, — "  Oh,  if  she's  relig 
ious!  "  Mattie  Shannon  just  said,  as  of  a  thing  yet  far 
ther  off  and  more  finally  done  with.  And  then  their 
talk  waited  under  a  restraint  again. 

"  I  suppose  we  were  all  religious, — Sundays,  at 
least,"  broke  forth  Sin  Saxon  suddenly,  who,  strangely, 
had  not  spoken  before.  "  I  don't  know,  though.  Last 
Saturday  night  we  danced  the  German  till  half-past 
twelve,  and  we  talked  charades  instead  of  going  to 
church,  till  I  felt — as  if  I'd  sat  all  the  morning  with  my 
feet  over  a  register,  reading  a  novel,  when  I'd  ought  to 
have  been  doing  a  German  exercise  or  something.  If 
she's  religious  every  day,  she's  seven  times  better  than 
we  are,  that's  all.  /  think — she's  got  a  knot  to  bto? 
thread!-" 

Nobody  dared  send  Leslie  Goldthwaite  quite  to  Cov 
entry  after  this- 

Sin  Saxon  found  herself  in  the  position  of  many  an 
other  leader, — obliged  to  make  some  demonstration  to 
satisfy  the  aroused  expectations  of  her  followers.  Her 
heart  was  no  longer  thoroughly  in  it ;  but  she  had  prom 
ised  them  a  "  howl,"  and  a  howl  they  were  determined 
upon,  either  with  or  against  her. 


180  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

Opportunity  arose  just  aow  also.  Madam  Kouth  went 
off  on  a  party  to  the  Notch,  with  some  New  York  friends, 
taking  with  her  one  or  two  of  the  younger  pupils,  for 
whom  she  felt  most  constant  responsibility.  The  elder 
girls  were  domesticated  and  acquainted  now  at  Outledge ; 
there  were  several  matronly  ladies  with  whom  the  whole 
party  was  sufficiently  associated  in  daily  intercourse  for 
all  the  air  of  chaperonage  that  might  be  needed ;  and  one 
assistant  pupil,  whom,  to  be  sure,  the  young  ladies  them 
selves  counted  as  a  most  convenient  nonentity,  was  left 
in  nominal  charge. 

Now  or  never,  the  girls  declared  with  one  voice  it 
must  be.  All  they  knew  about  it — the  most  of  them — 
was  that  it  was  some  sort  of  an  out-of-hours  frolic,  such 
as  boarding-school  ne'er-do-weels  delight  in;  and  it  was 
to  plague  Miss  Craydocke,  against  whom,  by  this  time, 
they  had  none  of  them  really  any  manner  of  spite ; 
neither  had  they  any  longer  the  idea  of  forcing  her  to 
evacuate ;  but  they  had  got  wound  up  on  that  key  at  the 
beginning,  and  nobody  thought  of  changing  it.  Nobody 
but  Sin  Saxon.  She  had  begun,  perhaps,  to  have  a  little 
feeling  that  she  would  change  it,  if  she  could. 

Nevertheless,  with  such  show  of  heartiness  as  she 
found  possible,  she  assented  to  their  demand,  and  the  time 
was  fixed.  Her  merry,  mischievous  temperament  as 
serted  itself  as  she  went  on,  until  she  really  grew  into 
the  mood  for  it  once  more,  for  the  pure  fun  of  the  thing. 

It  took  two  days  to  get  ready.  After  the  German  on 
Thursday  night,  the  howl  was  anounced  to  come  off  in 
Number  Thirteen,  West  Wing.  This,  of  course,  was  the 
boudoir ;  but  nobody  but  the  initiated  knew  that.  It  was 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  181 

supposed  to  be  Maud  Walcott's  room.  The  assistant  pu 
pil  made  faint  remonstrances  against  she  knew  not  what, 
and  was  politely  told  so;  moreover,  she  was  pressingly 
invited  to  render  herself  with  the  other  guests  at  the  little 
piazza  door,  precisely  at  eleven.  The  matronly  ladies, 
always  amused,  sometimes  a  little  annoyed  and  scandal 
ized  at  Sin  Saxon's  escapades,  asked  her,  one  and  an 
other,  at  different  times,  what  it  was  all  to  be,  and  if  she 
really  thought  she  had  better,  and  among  themselves  ex 
pressed  tolerably  grave  doubts  about  proprieties,  and 
wished  Madam  Routh  would  return.  The  vague  mys 
tery  and  excitement  of  the  howl  kept  all  the  house 
gently  agog  for  this  Tuesday  and  Wednesday  interven 
ing.  Sin  Saxon  gave  out  odd  hints  here  and  there  in 
confidence. 

It  was  to  be  a  "  spread  " ;  and  the  "  grub  "  (Sin  was 
a  boarding-school  girl,  you  know,  and  had  brothers  in 
college)  was  to  be  all  stolen.  There  was  an  uncommon 
clearance  of  cakes  and  doughnuts,  and  pie  and  cheese, 
from  each  meal,  at  this  time.  Cup-custards,  even,  disap 
peared, — cups  and  all.  A  cold  supper,  laid  at  nine  on 
Wednesday  evening,  for  some  expected  travellers,  turned 
out  a  more  meagre  provision  on  the  arrival  of  the  guests 
than  the  good  host  of  the  Giant's  Cairn  had  ever  been 
known  to  make.  At  bedtime  Sin  Saxon  presented  her 
self  in  Miss  Craydocke's  room. 

"  There's  something  heavy  on  my  conscience,"  she 
said,  with  a  disquiet  air.  "  I'm  really  worried ;  and  it's 
too  late  to  help  it  now." 

Miss  Craydocke  looked  at  her  with  a  kind  anxiety. 


1 82  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

"  It's  never  too  late  to  try  to  help  a  mistake.  And  you, 
Miss  Saxon, — you  can  always  do  what  you  choose." 

She  was  afraid  for  her, — the  good  lady, — that  her 
heedlessness  might  compromise  herself  and  others  in  some 
untoward  scrape.  She  didn't  like  these  rumors  of  the 
howl, — the  last  thing  she  thought  of  being  her  own  rest 
and  comfort,  which  were  to  be  purposely  invaded. 

"  I've  let  the  chance  go  by,"  said  Sin  Saxon,  desper 
ately.  "  It's  of  no  use  now."  And  she  rocked  herself 
back  and  forth  in  the  Shaker  chair,  of  which  she  had 
taken  possession. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Miss  Craydocke,  "  if  you  would  only 
explain  to  me, — perhaps — " 

"  You  might !  "  cried  Sin,  jumping  up,  and  making  a 
rush  at  the  good  woman,  seizing  her  by  both  hands. 
"  They'd  never  suspect  you.  It's  that  cold  roast  chicken 
in  the  pantry.  I  can't  get  over  it,  that  I  didn't  take 
that!" 

Sin  was  incorrigible.  Miss  Craydocke  shook  her  head, 
taking  care  to  turn  it  aside  at  the  same  moment;  for 
she  felt  her  lips  twitch  and  her  eyes  twinkle,  in  spite  of 
herself. 

"  I  won't  take  this  till  the  time  comes,"  said  Sin,  lay 
ing  her  hand  on  the  back  of  the  Shaker  chair.  "  But 
it's  confiscated  for  to-morrow  night,  and  I  shall  come  for 
it.  And,  Miss  Craydocke,  if  you  do  manage  about  the 
chicken, — I  hate  to  trouble  you  to  go  down  stairs,  but  I 
dare  say  you  want  matches,  or  a  drink  of  water,  or 
something,  and  another  time  I'll  wait  upon  you  with 
pleasure, — here's  the  door, — made  for  the  emergency, 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life  183 

— and  I  on  the  other  side  of  it  dissolved  in  tears  of  grati 
tude!" 

And  so,  for  the  time,  Sin  Saxon  disappeared. 

The  next  afternoon,  Jimmy  Wigley  brought  a  big 
basket  of  raspberries  to  the  little  piazza  door.  A  pitcher 
of  cream  vanished  from  the  tea-table  just  before  the  gong 
was  struck.  Nobody  supposed  the  cat  had  got  it.  The 
people  of  the  house  understood  pretty  well  what  was- 
going  on,  and  who  was  at  the  bottom  of  it  all;  but 
Madam  Eouth's  party  was  large,  and  the  life  of  the 
place ;  they  would  wink  hard  and  long  before  com 
plaining  at  anything  that  might  be  done  in  the  west 
wing. 

Sin  Saxon  opened  her  door  upon  Miss  Craydocke  when 
she  was  dressed  for  the  German,  and  about  to  go  down 
stairs.  "  I'll  trust  you,"  she  said,  "  about  the  rocking- 
chair.  You'll  want  it,  perhaps,  till  bedtime,  and  then 
you'll  just  put  it  in  here.  I  shouldn't  like  to  disturb- 
you  by  coming  for  it  late.  And  please  step  in  a  minute 
now,  won't  you  ?  " 

She  took  her  through  the  boudoir.  There  lay  the 
"  spread  "  upon  a  long  table,  contrived  by  the  contribu 
tion  of  one  ordinary  little  one  from  each  sleeping-cham 
ber,  and  covered  by  a  pair  of  clean  sheets,  which  swept 
the  floor  along  the  sides.  About  it  were  ranged  chairs. 
Two  pyramids  of  candles,  built  up  ingeniously  by  the 
grouping  of  bedroom  tins  upon  hidden  supports,  vine- 
sprays  and  mosses  serving  gracefully  for  concealment  and 
decoration,  stood,  one  on  each  side,  half-way  between 
the  ends  and  centre.  Cake-plates  were  garnished  with 
wreathed  oak-leaves,  and  in  the  midst  a  great  white 


^84  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

Indian  basket  held  the  red,  piled-up  berries,  fresh  and 
fragrant. 

"  That's  the  little  bit  of  righteousness  to  save  the  city. 
That's  paid  for,"  said  Sin  Saxon.  "  Jimmy  Wigley's 
gone  home  with  more  scrip  than  he  ever  got  at  once  be 
fore;  and  if  your  chicken-heartedness  hadn't  taken  the 
wrong  direction,  Miss  Craydocke,  I  should  be  perfectly  at 
ease  in  my  mind." 

"  It's  very  pretty,"  said  Miss  Craydocke ;  "  but  do 
you  think  Madam  Routh  would  quite  approve?  And 
why  couldn't  you  have  had  it  openly  in,  the  dining-room  ? 
And  what  do  you  call  it  a  '  howl '  for  ? "  Miss  Cray- 
docke's  questions  came  softly  and  hesitatingly,  as  her 
doubts  came.  The  little  festival  was  charming — but  for 
the  way  and  place. 

"  O  Miss  Craydocke !  Well,  you're  not  wicked,  and 
you  can't  be  supposed  to  know;  but  you  must  take  my 
word  for  it,  that,  if  it  was  tamed  down,  the  game 
wouldn't  be  worth  the  candle.  And  the  howl  ?  You  just 
wait  and  see !  " 

The  invited  guests  were  told  to  come  to  the  little 
piazza,  door.  The  girls  asked  all  their  partners  in  the 
German,  and  the  matronly  ladies  were  asked,  as  a  good 
many  respectable  people  are  civilly  invited  where  their 
declining  is  counted  upon.  Leslie  Goldthwaite,  and  the 
Eaddens,  and  Mrs.  Linceford,  and  the  Thoresbys  were 
all  asked,  and  might  come  if  they  chose.  Their  stay 
would  be  another  matter.  And  so  the  evening  and  the 
German  went  on. 

Till  eleven,  when  they  broke  up ;  and  the  entertainers 
in  a  body  rushed  merrily  and  noisily  along  the  passages 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  185 

tc  Number  Thirteen,  West  Wing,  rousing  from  their 
first  naps  many  quietly  disposed,  delicate  people,  who 
kept  early  hours,  and  a  few  babies  whose  nurses  and 
mammas  would  bear  them  anything  but  gratefully  in 
mind  through  the  midnight  hours  to  come. 

They  gained  two  minutes,  perhaps,  upon  their  guests, 
who  had,  some  of  them,  to  look  up  wraps,  and  to  come 
round  by  the  front  hall  and  piazzas.  In  these  two 
minutes,  by  Sin  Saxon's  order,  they  seated  themselves 
comfortably  at  table.  They  had  plenty  of  room;  but 
they  spread  their  robes  gracefully, — they  had  all  dressed 
in  their  very  prettiest  to-night, — and  they  quite  filled  up 
the  space.  Bright  colors,  and  soft,  rich  textures  floating 
and  mingling  together,  were  like  a  rainbow  encircling  the 
feast.  The  candles  had  been  touched  with  kerosene,  and 
matches  lay  ready.  The  lighting-up  had  been  done  in 
an  instant.  And  then  Sin  Saxon  went  to  the  door,  and 
drew  back  the  chintz  curtains  from  across  the  upper  half, 
which  was  of  glass.  A  group  of  the  guests,  young  men, 
were  already  there,  beneath  the  elms  outside.  But  how 
should  she  see  them,  looking  from  the  bright  light  into 
the  tree-shadows  ?  She  went  quietly  back,  and  took  her 
place  at  the  head,  leaving  the  door  fast  bolted. 

There  came  a  knock.  Sin  Saxon  took  no  heed,  but 
smilingly  addressed  herself  to  offering  dainties  right  and 
left.  Some  of  the  girls  stared,  and  one  or  two  half  rose 
to  go  and  give  admittance. 

"  Keep  your  seats,"  said  Sin,  in  her  most  ladylike  way 
and  tone,  with  the  unchanged  smile  upon  her  face. 
''That's  the  howl!" 

They  began  to  perceive  the  joke  outside.     They  began 


1 86  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

to  knock  vociferously.  They  took  up  their  cue  with  a 
readiness,  and  made  plenty  of  noise ;  not  doubting,  as  yet, 
that  they  should  be  admitted  at  last.  Some  of  the  ladies 
came  round,  gave  a  glance,  saw  how  things  were  going, 
and  retreated ; — except  a  few,  parties  from  other  houses, 
who  had  escorts  among  the  gentlemen,  and  who  waited  a 
little  to  see  how  the  frolic  would  end,  or  at  least  to  re 
claim  their  attendants. 

Well,  it  was  very  unpardonable, — outrageous,  the 
scandalized  neighbors  were  beginning  already  to  say  in 
their  rooms.  Even  Sin  Saxon  had  a  little  excitement  in 
her  eye  beyond  the  fun,  as  she  still  maintained  the  most 
graceful  order  within,  and  the  exchange  of  courtesies 
went  on  around  the  board,  and  the  tumult  increased  with 
out.  They  tree-toaded,  they  cat-called,  they  shouted,  they 
cheered,  they  howled,  they  even  hissed.  Sin  Saxon  sat 
motionless  an  instant  when  it  came  to  that,  and  gave  a 
glance  toward  the  lights.  A  word  from  her  would  put 
them  out,  and  end  the  whole.  She  held  her  coup  in 
reserve,  however,  knowing  her  resource,  and  sat,  as  it 
were,  with  her  finger  on  the  spring,  determined  to  carry 
through  coolly  what  she  had  begun. 

Dakie  Thayne  had  gone  away  with  the  Linceford  party 
when  they  crossed  to  the  Green  Cottage.  Afterward, 
he  came  out  again  and  stood  in  the  open  road.  Some 
ladies,  boarders  at  Blashford's,  up  above,  came  slowly 
away  from  the  uproar,  homeward.  One  or  two  young 
men  detached  themselves  from  the  group  on  the  piazza, 
and  followed  to  see  them  safe,  as  it  belonged  to  them  to 
do.  The  rest  sat  themselves  down,  at  this  moment,  upon 
the  steps  and  platform,  and  struck  up,  with  one  accord, 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  187 

"  We  won't  go  home  till  morning."  In  the  midst  of  this, 
a  part  broke  off  and  took  up,  discordantly,  the  refrain, 
''  Polly,  put  the  kettle  on,  we'll  all  have  tea  " ;  others 
complicated  the  confusion  further  with  "  Cruel,  cruel, 
Polly  Hopkins,  treat  me  so — oh !  treat  me  so !  "  Till 
they  fell,  at  last,  into  an  indistinguishable  jumble  and 
clamor,  from  which  extricated  themselves  now  and  again, 
and  prevailed,  the  choruses  of  "  Upidee,"  and  "  Bum- 
bum-bye,"  with  an  occasional  drum-beat  of  emphasis  given 
upon  the  door. 

"  Don't  go  back  there,  James,"  Dakie  Thayne  heard  a 
voice  from  the  retiring  party  say  as  they  passed  him, — 
"  it's  disgraceful !  " 

"  The  house  won't  hold  Sin  Saxon  after  this,"  said 
another.  "  They  were  out  in  the  upper  hall,  half  a  dozen 
of  them,  just  now,  ringing  their  bells  and  calling  for  Mr. 
Biscombe." 

"  The  poor  man  don't  know  who  to  side  with.  He 
don't  want  to  lose  the  whole  west  wing.  After  all,  there 
must  be  young  people  in  the  house,  and  if  it  weren't  one 
thing  it  would  be  another.  It's  only  a  few  fidgets  that 
complain.  They'll  hush  up  and  go  off  presently,  and 
the  whole  thing  will  be  a  joke  over  the  breakfast-table 
to-morrow  morning,  after  everybody's  had  a  little  sleep." 

The  singing  died  partially  away,  just  then,  and  some 
growling,  less  noisy,  but  more  in  earnest,  began. 

"  They  don't  mean  to  let  us  in !  I  say,  this  is  getting 
rather  rough !  " 

"  It's  only  to  smash  a  pane  of  glass  above  the  bolt, 
and  let  ourselves  in.  Why  shouldn't  we?  We're  in 
vited."  The  latent  mob-element  was  very  near  develop- 


1 88  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

ing  itself  in  these  young  gentlemen,  high-bred,  but 
irate. 

At  this  moment,  a  wagon  came  whirling  down  the  road 
around  the  ledges.  Dakie  Thayne  caught  sight  of  the 
two  white  leaders,  recognized  them,  and  flew  across  to 
the  hotel.  "  Stop !  "  cried  he.  At  the  same  instant  a 
figure  moved  hastily  away  from  behind  Miss  Craydocke's 
blinds.  It  was  a  mercy  that  the  wagon  had  driven  around 
to  the  front  hall  door. 

A  mercy  in  one  way;  but  the  misfortune  was  that  the 
supper-party  within  knew  nothing  of  it.  A  musical,  lady 
like  laugh,  quite  in  contrast  to  the  demonstrative  utter 
ances  outside,  had  just  broken  forth,  in  response  to  one 
of  Sin  Saxon's  brightest  speeches,  when  through  the  ad 
joining  apartment  came  suddenly  upon  them  the  un 
looked-for  apparition  of  "  the  spinster."  Miss  Cray- 
docke  went  straight  across  to  the  beleaguered  door,  drew 
the  bolt,  and  threw  it  back.  "  Gently,  young  gentlemen ! 
Draw  up  the  piazza  chairs,  if  you  please,  and  sit  down," 
said  she.  "  Mr.  Lowe,  Mr.  Brookhouse,  here  are  plates ; 
will  you  be  kind  enough  to  serve  your  friends  ?  " 

In  three  minutes  she  had  filled  and  passed  outward 
half  a  dozen  saucers  of  fruit,  and  sent  a  basket  of  cake 
among  them.  Then  she  drew  a  seat  for  herself,  and 
began  to  eat  raspberries.  It  was  all  done  so  quickly — 
they  were  so  entirely  taken  by  surprise — that  nobody, 
inside  or  out,  gainsaid  or  delayed  her  by  a  word. 

It  was  hardly  done  when  a  knock  sounded  at  the  door 
upon  the  passage.  "  Young  ladies !  "  a  voice  called, — 
Madam  Eouth's. 

She  and  her  friends  had  driven  down  from  the  Notch 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  189 

by  sunset  and  moonlight.  Nobody  had  said  anything  to 
her  of  the  disturbance  when  she  came  in ;  her  arrival 
had  rather  stopped  the  complaints  that  had  begun;  for 
people  are  not  malignant,  after  all,  as  a  general  thing,  and 
there  is  a  curious  propensity  in  human  nature  which 
cools  off  indignation  even  at  the  greatest  crimes,  just  as 
the  culprit  is  likely  to  suffer.  We -are  apt  to  check  the 
foot  just  as  we  might  have  planted  it  upon  the  noxious 
creature,  and  to  let  off  great  state  criminals  on  parole. 
Madam  Routh  had  seen  the  bright  light  and  the  gather 
ing  about  the  west  wing.  She  had  caught  some  sounds 
of  the  commotion.  She  made  her  way  at  once  to  look 
after  her  charge. 

Sin  Saxon  was  not  a  pupil  now,  and  there  was  no  con 
dign  punishment  actually  to  fear;  but  her  heart  stood 
still  a  second,  for  all  that,  and  she  realized  that  she  had 
been  on  the  verge  of  an  "  awful  scrape."  It  was  bad 
enough  now,  as  Madam  Routh  stood  there,  gravely  silent. 
She  could  not  approve.  She  was  amazed  to  see  Miss 
Craydocke  present,  countenancing  and  matronizing.  But 
Miss  Craydocke  was  present,  and  it  altered  the  whole 
face  of  affairs.  Her  eye  took  in,  too,  the  modification  of 
the  room, — quite  an  elegant  little  private  parlor  as  it 
had  been  made.  The  young  men  were  gathered  deco 
rously  about  the  doorway  and  upon  the  platform,  one  or 
two  only  politely  assisting  within.  They  had  taken  this 
cue  as  readily  as  the  other;  indeed,  they  were  by  no 
means  aware  that  this  was  not  the  issue  intended  from 
the  beginning,  long  as  the  joke  had  been  allowed  to  go 
on ;  and  their  good-humor  and  courtesy  had  been  instantly 
restored.  Miss  Craydocke,  by  one  master-stroke  of  gen- 


190  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

erous  presence  of  mind,  had  achieved  an  instantaneous 
change  in  the  position,  and  given  an  absolutely  new  com 
plexion  to  the  performance. 

"  It  is  late,  young  ladies,"  was  all  Madam  Routh's  re 
mark  at  length. 

"  They  gave  up  their  German  early  on  purpose ;  it  was 
a  little  surprise  they  planned,"  Miss  Craydocke  said,  as 
she  moved  to  meet  her. 

And  then  Madam  Routh,  with  wise,  considerate  dig 
nity,  took  her  cue.  She  even  came  forward  to  the  table 
and  accepted  a  little  fruit;  stayed  five  minutes,  perhaps, 
and  then,  without  a  spoken  word,  her  movement  to  go 
broke  up,  with  unmistakable  intent,  the  party.  Fifteen 
minutes  after,  all  was  quiet  in  the  west  wing. 

But  Sin  Saxon,  when  the  doors  closed  at  either  hand, 
and  the  girls  alone  were  left  around  the  fragments  of 
their  feast,  rushed  impetuously  across  toward  Miss  Cray 
docke,  and  went  down  beside  her  on  her  knees. 

"  O  you  dear,  magnificent  old  Christian !  "  she  cried 
out,  and  laid  her  head  down  on  her  lap,  with  little  sobs, 
half  laughter  and  half  tears. 

"  There,  there !  " — and  Miss  Craydocke  softly  patted 
her  golden  hair,  and  spoke  as  she  would  soothe  a  fretted 
and  excited  child. 

Next  morning,  at  breakfast,  Sin  Saxon  was  as  beauti 
fully  ruffled,  ratted,  and  crimped, — as  gay,  as  bewitch 
ing,  and  defiant  as  ever, — seated  next  Madam  Routh, 
assiduously  devoted  to  her  in  the  little  attentions  of  the 
meal,  in  high  spirits  and  favor;  even  saucily  alluding, 
across  the  table,  to  "our  howl,  Miss  Craydocke !  " 

Public  opinion  was  carried  by  storm;  the  benison  of 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  191 

sleep  had  laid  wrath.  Nobody  knew  that,  an  hour  be 
fore,  she  had  been  in  Madam  Routh's  room,  making  a 
clean  breast  of  the  whole  transaction,  and  disclosing  the 
truth  of  Miss  Craydocke's  magnanimous  and  tactful  in 
terposition,  confessing  that  without  this  she  had  been  at 
her  wits'  ends  how  to  put  a  stop  to  it,  and  promising, 
like  a  sorry  child,  to  behave  better,  and  never  do  so  any 
more. 

Two  hours  later  she  came  meekly  to  Miss  Craydocke's 
room,  where  the  "  bee  "  was  gathered, — for  mere  com 
panionship  to-day,  with  chess  and  fancy-work, — her 
flourishes  all  laid  aside,  her  very  hair  brushed  close  to 
her  pretty  head,  and  a  plain  gingham  dress  on. 

"  Miss  Craydocke !  "  she  said,  with  an  air  she  could 
not  divest  of  a  little  comicality,  but  with  an  earnestness 
behind  it  shining  through  her  eyes,  "  I'm  good ;  I'm 
converted.  I  want  some  tow-cloth  to  sew  on  immedi 
ately."  And  she  sat  down,  folding  her  hands,  waiting. 

Miss  Craydocke  laughed.  "  I  don't  know.  I'm 
afraid  I  haven't  anything  to  be  done  just  now,  unless  I 
cut  out  some  very  coarse,  heavy  homespun." 

"  I'd  be  glad  if  you  would.  Beggars  mustn't  be 
choosers ;  but  if  they  might,  I  should  say  it  was  the  very 
thing.  Sackcloth,  you  know;  and  then,  perhaps,  the 
ashes  might  be  excused.  I'm  in  solemn  earnest,  though. 
I'm  reformed.  You've  done  it;  and  you,"  she  added, 
turning  round  short  on  Leslie  Goldthwaite, — "  you've 
been  at  it  a  long  time,  unbeknownst  to  yourself ;  and  you, 
ma'am, — you  finished  it  last  night.  It's  been  like  the 
casting  out  of  the  devils  in  Scripture.  They  always  give 
a  howl,  you  know,  and  go  out  of  'em !  " 


IQ2  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 


XL 


SIN  SAXON  came  heart  and  soul  into  Miss  Cray- 
docke's  generous  and  delicate  plans.  The  work  was  done, 
to  be  sure.  The  third  trunk,  that  had  been  "  full  of  old 
winter-dresses  to  be  made  over,"  was  locked  upon  the 
nice  little  completed  frocks  and  sacks  that  forestalled  the 
care  and  hurry  of  "  fall  work  "  for  the  overburdened 
mother,  and  should  gladden  her  unexpecting  eyes,  as  such 
store  only  can  gladden  the  anxious  family  manager  who 
feels  the  changeful,  shortening  days  to  come  treading, 
with  their  speedy  demands,  upon  the  very  skirts  of  long, 
golden,  sunshiny  August  hours. 

Susan  and  Martha  Josselyn  felt,  on  their  part,  as  only 
busy  workers  feel  who  fasten  the  last  thread,  or  dash  a 
period  to  the  last  page,  and  turn  around  to  breathe  the 
breath  of  the  free,  and  choose  for  once  and  for  a  while 
what  they  shall  do.  The  first  hour  of  this  freedom  rested 
them  more  than  the  whole  six  weeks  that  they  had  been 
getting  half-rest,  with  the  burden  still  upon  their  thought 
and  always  waiting  for  their  hands.  It  was  like  the  first 
half-day  to  children,  when  school  has  closed  and  books  are 
brought  home  for  the  long  vacation.  All  the  possible 
delight  of  coming  weeks  is  distilled  to  one  delicious  drop, 
and  tasted  then. 

"  It's  '  none  of  my  funeral,'  I  know,"  Sin  Saxon  said 
to  Miss  Craydocke.  "  I'm  only  an  eleventh-hour  helper; 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  193 

but  I'll  come  in  for  the  holiday  business,  if  you'll  let  me ; 
and  perhaps,  after  all,  that's  more  in  my  line." 

Everything  seemed  to  be  in  her  line  that  she  once  took 
hold  of.  She  had  little  private  consultations  with  Miss 
Craydocke.  "  It's  to  be  your  party  to  Feather-Cap,  but  it 
shall  be  my  party  to  Minster  Rock,"  she  said.  "  Leave 
that  to  me,  please.  Now  the  howl's  off  my  hands,  I  feel 
equal  to  anything." 

Just  in  time  for  the  party  to  Minster  Rock,  a  great 
basket  and  box  from  home  arrived  for  Sin  Saxon.  In  the 
first  were  delicious  early  peaches,  rose-color  and  gold, 
wrapped  one  by  one  in  soft  paper  and  laid  among  fine 
sawdust ;  early  pears  also,  with  the  summer  incense  in 
their  spiciness ;  greenhouse  grapes,  white  and  amber  and 
purple.  The  other  held  delicate  cakes  and  confections 
unknown  to  Outledge,  as  carefuly  put  up,  and  quite  fresh 
and  unharmed.  "  Everything  comes  in  right  for  me," 
she  exclaimed,  running  back  and  forth  to  Miss  Cra-ydocke 
with  new  and  more  charming  discoveries  as  she  excavated. 
Not  a  word  did  she  say  of  the  letter  that  had  gone  down 
from  her  four  days  before,  asking  her  mother  for  these 
things,  and  to  send  her  some  money ;  "  for  a  party,"  she 
told  her,  "  that  she  would  rather  give  here  than  to  have 
her  usual  summer  fete  after  her  return." 

"  You  quite  eclipse  and  extinguish  my  poor  little  do 
ings,"  said  Miss  Craydocke,  admiring  and  rejoicing  all 
the  while  as  genuinely  as  Sin  herself. 

"  Dear  Miss  Craydocke !  "  cried  the  girl,  "  if  I  thought 
it  would  seem  like  that,  I  would  send  and  tip  them  all 
into  the  river.  But  you, — you  can't  be  eclipsed !  Your 
orbit  runs  too  high  above  ours." 


194  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

Sin  Saxon's  brightness  and  independence,  that  lapsed 
so  easily  into  sauciness,  and  made  it  so  hard  for  her  to 
observe  the  mere  conventionalisms  of  respect,  in  no  way 
hindered  the  real  reverence  that  grew  in  her  toward  the 
superiority  she  recognized,  and  that  now  softened  her 
tone  to  a  tenderness  of  humility  before  her  friend. 

There  was  a  grace  upon  her  in  these  days  that  all  saw. 
Over  her  real  wit  and  native  vivacity,  it  was  like  a  por 
celain  shade  about  a  flame.  One  could  look  at  it,  and  be 
glad  of  it,  without  winking.  The  brightness  was  all 
there,  but  there  was  a  difference  in  the  giving  forth. 
What  had  been  a  bit  self-centred  and  self-conscious — 
bright  as  if  only  for  being  bright  and  for  dazzling — was 
outgoing  and  self-forgetful,  and  so  softened.  Leslie 
Goldthwaite  read  by  it  a  new  answer  to  some  of  her 
old  questions.  "  What  harm  is  there  in  it  ?  "  she  had 
asked  herself  on  their  first  meeting,  when  Sin  Saxon's 
overflow  of  merry  mischief,  that  yet  did  "  no  special  or 
obvious  good,"  made  her  so  taking, — so  the  centre  of 
whatever  group  into  which  she  came.  Afterward,  when, 
running  to  its  height,  this  spirit  showed  in  behavior 
that  raised  misgivings  among  the  scrupulous  and  orderly 
that  would  not  let  them  any  longer  be  wholly  amused, 
and  came  near  betraying  her,  or  actually  did  betray  her, 
into  indecorums  beyond  excuse  or  countenance,  Leslie  had 
felt  the  harm,  and  begun  to  shrink  away.  "  Nothing  but 
leaves  "  came  back  to  her ;  her  summer  thought  recurred 
and  drew  to  itself  a  new  illustration.  This  it  was  to 
have  no  aim  but  to  rustle  and  flaunt ;  to  grow  leaves  con 
tinually  ;  to  make  one's  self  central  and  conspicuous,  and 
to  fill  great  space.  But  now  among  these  very  leaves 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  195 

gleamed  something  golden  and  glorious;  something  was 
ripening  suddenly  out  that  had  lain  unseen  in  its  green 
ness;  the  time  of  figs  seemed  coming.  Sin  Saxon  was 
intent  upon  new  purpose;  something  to  be  done  would 
not  let  her  "  stand  upon  the  order  "  or  the  fashion  of  her 
doing.  She  forgot  her  little  airs,  that  had  been  apt  to 
detract  from  her  very  wit,  and  leave  it  only  smartness ; 
bright  things  came  to  her,  and  she  uttered  and  acted 
them ;  but  they  seemed  involuntary  and  only  on  the  way ; 
she  could  not  help  herself,  and  nobody  would  have  had  it 
helped ;  she  was  still  Sin  Saxon ;  but  she  had  simply  told 
the  truth  in  her  wayward  way  that  morning.  Miss  Cray- 
docke  had  done  it,  with  her  kindly  patience  that  was  no 
stupidity,  her  simple  dignity  that  never  lowered  itself  and 
that  therefore  could  not  be  lowered,  and  her  quiet  con 
tinuance  in  generous  well-doing, — and  Sin  Saxon  was 
different.  She  was  won  to  a  perception  of  the  really  best 
in  life, — that  which  this  plain  old  spinster,  with  her 
"  scrap  of  lace  and  a  front,"  had  found  worth  living  for 
after  the  golden  days  were  over.  The  impulse  of  temper 
ament,  and  the  generosity  which  made  everything  in 
stant  and  entire  with  her,  acted  in  this  also,  and  car 
ried  her  full  over  to  an  enthusiasm  of  affectionate  co 
operation. 

There  were  a  few  people  at  Outledge — of  the  sort  who, 
having  once  made  up  their  minds  that  no  good  is  ever  to 
come  out  of  ISTazareth,  see  all  things  in  the  light  of  that 
conviction — who  would  not  allow  the  praise  of  any  volun 
tary  amendment  to  this  tempering  and  new  direction  of 
Sin's  vivacity.  "  It  was  time  she  was  put  down,"  they 
said,  "  and  they  were  glad  that  it  was  done.  That  last 


196  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

outbreak  had  finished  her.  She  might  as  well  run  after 
people  now,  whom  she  had  never  noticed  before:  it  was 
plain  there  was  nothing  else  left  for  her:  her  place  was 
gone,  and  her  reign  was  over."  Of  all  others,  Mrs. 
Thoresby  insisted  upon  this  most  strongly. 

The  whole  school-party  had  considerably  subsided. 
Madam  Kouth  held  a  tighter  rein;  but  that  Sin  Saxon 
had  a  place  and  a  power  still,  she  found  ways  to  show 
in  a  new  spirit.  Into  a  quiet  corner  of  the  dancing-hall, 
— skimming  her  way,  with  the  dance  yet  in  her  feet,  be 
tween  groups  of  staid  observers, — she  came  straight,  one 
evening,  from  a  bright,  spirited  figure  of  the  German, 
and  stretched  her  hand  to  Martha  Josselyn.  "  It's  in 
your  eyes,"  she  whispered, — "  come !  " 

Night  after  night  Martha  Josselyn  had  sat  there,  with 
the  waltz-music  in  her  ears,  and  her  little  feet,  that  had 
had  one  merry  winter's  training  before  the  war,  and 
many  a  home  practice  since  with  the  younger  ones,  quiv 
ering  to  the  time  beneath  her  robes,  and  seen  other  girls 
chosen  out  and  led  away, — young  matrons,  and  little 
short-petticoated  children  even,  taken  to  "  excursionize  " 
between  the  figures, — while  nobody  thought  of  her.  "  I 
might  be  ninety,  or  a  cripple,"  she  said  to  her  sister, 
"  from  their  taking  for  granted  it  is  nothing  to  me. 
How  is  it  that  everything  goes  by,  and  I  only  twenty  ?  " 
There  had  been  danger  that  Martha  Josselyn's  sweet, 
generous  temper  should  get  a  dash  of  sour,  only  because 
of  there  lying  alongside  it  a  clear  common-sense  and  a 
pure  instinct  of  justice.  Susan's  heart  longed  with  a 
motherly  tenderness  for  her  young  sister  when  she  said 
such  words, — longed  to  put  all  pleasant  things  somehow 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  197 

within  her  reach.  She  had  given  it  up  for  herself,  years 
since.  And  now,  all  at  once,  Sin  Saxon  came  and  "  took 
her  out." 

It  was  a  more  generous  act  than  it  shows  for,  written. 
There  is  a  little  tacit  consent  about  such  things  which 
few  young  people  of  a  "  set "  have  thought,  desire,  or 
courage  to  disregard.  Sin  Saxon  never  did  anything 
more  gracefully.  It  was  one  of  the  moments  that  came 
now,  when  she  wist  not  that  she  shone.  She  was  drop 
ping,  little  by  little,  in  the  reality  of  a  better  desire,  that 
"  satisfaction "  Jeannie  Hadden  had  spoken  of,  of 
"  knowing  when  one  is  at  one's  prettiest,"  or  doing  one's 
cleverest.  The  "  leaf  and  the  fruit  "  never  fitted  better 
in  their  significance  than  to  Sin  Saxon.  Something  in- 
tenser  and  more  truly  living  was  taking  the  place  of  the 
mere  flutter  and  flash  and  grace  of  effect. 

It  was  the  figure  in  which  the  dancers  form  in  facing 
columns^  two  and  two,  the  girls  and  the  young  men; 
when  the  "  four  hands  round  "  keeps  them  moving  in 
bright  circles  all  along  the  floor,  and  under  arches  of 
raised  and  joined  hands  the  girls  came  down,  two  and 
two,  to  the  end,  forming  their  long  line  face  to  face 
against  the  opposing  line  of  their  partners.  The  Ger 
man  may  be,  in  many  respects,  an  undesirable  dance; 
it  may  be,  as  I  have  sometimes  thought,  at  least  a  selfish 
dance,  affording  pleasure  chiefly  to  the  initiated  few, 
and  excluding  gradually  almost  from  society  itself  those 
who  do  not  participate  in  it.  I  speak  of  it  here  neither 
to  uphold  nor  to  condemn, — simply  because  they  did 
dance  it  at  Outledge  as  they  do  everywhere,  and  I  can 
not  tell  my  story  without  it ;  but  I  think  at  this  moment, 


198  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

when  Sin  Saxon  led  the  figure  with  Martha  Josselyn, 
there  was  something  lovely,  not  alone  in  its  graceful 
grouping,  but  in  the  very  spirit  and  possibility  of  the 
thing  that  so  appeared.  There  is  scope  and  chance  even 
here,  young  girls,  for  the  beauty  of  kindness  and  generous 
thought.  Even  here,  one  may  give  a  joy,  may  soothe  a 
neglect,  may  make  some  heart  conscious  for  a  moment 
of  the  great  warmth  of  a  human  welcome;  and,  though 
it  be  but  to  a  pastime,  I  think  it  comes  into  the  benison 
of  the  Master's  words,  when,  even  for  this,  some  spirit 
gets  a  feeling  like  them, — "  I  was  a  stranger,  and  ye  took 
me  in." 

Some  one,  standing  behind  where  Leslie  Goldthwaite 
came  to  her  place  at  the  end  of  the  line  by  the  hall-door, 
had  followed  and  interpreted  the  whole;  had  read  the 
rare,  shy  pleasure  in  Martha  Josselyn's  face  and  move 
ment,  the  bright,  expressive  warmth  in  Sin  Saxon's,  and 
the  half-surprise  of  observation  upon  others;  and  he 
thought  as  I  do. 

"  *  Friends  of  the  mammon  of  unrighteousness.'  That 
girl  has  even  sanctified  the  German !  " 

There  was  only  one  voice  like  that, — only  one  person 
who  would  so  speak  himself  out.  Leslie  Goldthwaite 
turned  quickly,  and  found  herself  face  to  face  with  Mar- 
maduke  Wharne.  "  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come !  "  said 
she. 

He  regarded  her  shrewdly.  "  Then  you  can  do  with 
out  me,"  he  said.  "  I  didn't  know  by  this  time  how.  it 
might  be." 

The  last  two  had  taken  their  places  below  Leslie  while 
these  words  were  exchanged,  and  now  the  whole  line 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  199 

moved  forward  to  meet  their  partners,  and  the  waltz 
began.  Frank  Scherman  had  got  back  to-day,  and  was 
clancing  with  Sin  Saxon.  Leslie  and  Dakie  Thayne  were 
together,  as  they  had  been  that  first  evening  at  Jefferson, 
and  as  they  often  were.  The  four  stopped,  after  their 
merry  whirl,  in  this  same  corner  by  the  door  where  Mr. 
Wharne  was  standing.  Dakie  Thayne  shook  hands  with 
his  friend  in  his  glad  boy's  way.  Across  their  greetings 
came  Sin  Saxon's  words,  spoken  to  her  companion, — 
"  You're  to  take  her,  Frank."  Frank  Scherman  was  an 
old  childhood's  friend,  not  a  mere  mountain  acquaintance. 
"  I'll  bring  up  plenty  of  others  first,  but  you're  to  wait 
and  take  her.  And,  wherever  she  got  her  training,  you'll 
find  she's  the  featest-footed  among  us."  It  was  among 
the  children — training  them — that  she  had  caught  the 
trick  of  it,  but  Sin  Saxon  did  not  know. 

"  I'm  ready  to  agree  with  you,  with  but  just  the 
reservation  that  you  could  not  make,"  Frank  Scherman 
answered. 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Sin  Saxon.  "  But  stop !  here's 
something  better  and  quicker.  They're  getting  the  bou 
quets.  Give  her  yours.  It's  your  turn.  Go !  " 

Sin  Saxon's  blue  eyes  sparkled  like  two  stars;  the 
golden  mist  of  her  hair  was  tossed  into  lighter  clouds  by 
exercise;  on  her  cheeks  a  bright  rose-glow  burned;  and 
the  lips  parted  with  their  sweetest,  because  most  uncon 
scious,  curve  over  the  tiny  gleaming  teeth.  Her  word 
and  her  glance  sent  Frank  Scherman  straight  to  do  her 
bidding ;  and  a  bunch  of  wild  azalias  and  scarlet  lilies  was 
laid  in  Martha  Josselyn's  hand,  and  she  was  taken  out 
again  into  the  dance  by  the  best  partner  there.  We  may 


2OO  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

trust  her  to  Sin  Saxon  and  Frank  Scherman,  and  her 
own  "  feat-footedness ;  "  everything  will  not  go  by  her 
any  more,  and  she  but  twenty. 

Mannaduke  Wharne  watched  it  all  with  that  keen 
glance  of  his  that  was  like  a  level  line  of  fire  from  under 
the  rough,  gray  brows. 

"  I  am  glad  you  saw  that,"  said  Leslie  Goldthwaite, 
watching  also,  and  watching  him. 

"  By  the  light  of  your  own  little  text, — f  kind,  and 
bright,  and  pleasant  ? '  You  think  it  will  do  me  good  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  was  good ;  and  I  am  glad  you  should 
really  know  Sin  Saxon — at  the  first."  And  at  the 
best;  Marmaduke  Wharne  quite  understood  her.  She 
gave  him,  unconsciously,  the  key  to  a  whole  character. 
It  might  as  easily  have  been  something  quite  different 
that  he  should  have  first  seen  in  this  young  girl. 

Next  morning  they  all  met  on  the  piazza.  Leslie 
Goldthwaite  presented  Sin  Saxon  to  Mr.  Wharne. 

"  So,  my  dear,"  he  said,  without  preface,  "  you  are  the 
belle  of  the  place  ?  " 

He  looked  to  see  how  she  would  take  it.  There  was 
not  the  first  twinkle  of  a  simper  about  eye  or  lip.  Sur 
prised,  but  quite  gravely,  she  looked  up,  and  met  his  odd 
bluntness  with  as  quaint  an  honesty  of  her  own.  "  I  was 
pretty  sure  of  it  a  while  ago,"  she  said.  "  And  perhaps 
I  was,  in  a  demoralized  sort  of  a  way.  But  I've  come 
down,  Mr.  Wharne, — like  the  coon.  I'll  tell  you  pres 
ently,"  she  went  on, — and  she  spoke  now  with  warmth, 
— "  who  is  the  real  belle, — the  beautiful  one  of  this 
place !  There  she  comes !  " 

Miss  Craydocke,  in  her  nice,  plain  cambric  morning- 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  201 

gown,  and  her  smooth  front,  was  approaching  down  the 
side-passage  across  the  wing.  Just  as  she  had  come  one 
morning,  weeks  ago ;  and  it  was  the  identical  "  fresh  pet 
ticoat  "  of  that  morning  she  wore  now.  The  sudden  co 
incidence  and  recollection,  struck  Sin  Saxon  as  she  spoke. 
To  her  surprise,  Miss  Craydocke  and  Marmaduke  Wharne 
moved  quickly  toward  each  other,  and  grasped  hands 
like  old  friends. 

"  Then  you  know  all  about  it !  "  Sin  Saxon  said,  a  few 
minutes  after,  when  she  got  her  chance.  "  But  you 
don't  know,  sir,"  she  added,  with  a  desperate  candor, 
"  the  way  I  took  to  find  it  out !  I've  been  tormenting 
her,  Mr.  Wharne,  all  summer.  And  I'm  heartily 
ashamed  of  it." 

Marmaduke  Wharne  smiled.  There  was  something 
about  this  girl  that  suited  his  own  vein.  "  I  doubt  she 
was  tormented,"  he  said,  quietly. 

At  that  Sin  Saxon  smiled  too,  and  looked  up  out  of 
her  hearty  shame  which  she  had  truly  felt  upon  her  at 
her  own  reminder.  "  No,  Mr.  Wharne,  she  never  was ; 
but  that  wasn't  my  fault.  After  all,  perhaps, — isn't 
that  what  the  optimists  think  ? — it  was  best  so.  I  should 
never  have  found  her  thoroughly  out  in  any  other  way. 
It's  like  " — and  there  she  stopped  short  of  her  compar- 


"  Like  what  ?  "  asked  Mr.  WTiarne,  waiting. 

"  I  «an't  tell  you  now,  sir,"  she  answered  with  a  gleam 
of  her  old  fearless  brightness.  "  It's  one  end  of  a  grand 
idea,  I  believe,  that  I  just  touched  on.  I  must  think  it 
out,  if  I  can,  and  see  if  it  all  holds  together." 

"  And  then  I'm  to  have  it  ?  " 


2O2  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

"  It   will   take   a   monstrous   deal   of   thinking,   Mr. 
Wharne." 


"  If  I  could  only  remember  the  chemicals !  "  said  Sin 
Saxon.  She  was  down  among  the  outcrops  and  frag 
ments  at  the  foot  of  Minster  Rock.  Close  in  around  the 
stones  grew  the  short,  mossy  sward.  In  a  safe  hollow 
between  two  of  them,  against  a  back  formed  by  another 
that  rose  higher  with  a  smooth  perpendicular,  she  had 
chosen  her  fireplace,  and  there  she  had  been  making  the 
coffee.  Quite  intent  upon  the  comfort  of  her  friends 
she  was  to-day ;  something  really  to  do  she  had ;  "  in 
better  business,"  as  Leslie  Goldthwaite  phrased  it  to  her 
self  once,  she  found  herself,  than  only  to  make  herself 
brilliant  and  enchanting  after  the  manner  of  the  day  at 
Feather-Cap.  And  let  me  assure  you,  if  you  have  not 
tried  it,  that  to  make  the  coffee  and  arrange  the  feast  at 
a  picnic  like  this  is  something  quite  different  from  being 
merely  an  ornamental.  There  is  the  fire  to  coax  with 
chips  and  twigs,  and  a  good  deal  of  smoke  to  swallow, 
and  one's  dress  to  disregard.  And  all  the  rest  are  off  in 
scattered  groups,  not  caring  in  the  least  to  watch  the  pot 
boil,  but  supposing,  none  the  less,  that  it  will.  To  be 
sure,  Frank  Scherman  and  Dakie  Thayne  brought  her 
firewood,  and  the  water  from  the  spring,  and  waited 
loyally  while  she  seemed  to  need  them ;  indeed,  Frank 
Scherman,  much  as  he  unquestionably  was  charmed  with 
her  gay  moods,  stayed  longest  by  her  in  her  quiet  ones; 
but  she  sent  them  off  herself,  at  last,  to  climb  with  Leslie 
and  the  Josselyns  again  into  the  Minster,  and  see  thence 
the  wonderful  picture  that  the  late  sloping  light  made  on 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  203 

the  far  hills  and  fields  that  showed  to  their  sight  between 
framing  tree-branches  and  tall  trunk-shafts  as  they  looked 
from  out  the  dimness  of  the  rock. 

She  sat  there  alone,  working  out  a  thought;  and  at 
last  she  spoke  as  I  have  said, — "  If  I  could  only  remem 
ber  the  chemicals !  " 

"  My  dear !  What  do  you  mean  ?  The  chemicals  ? 
For  the  coffee  ?  "  It  was  Miss  Craydocke  who  ques 
tioned,  coming  up  with  Mr.  Wharne. 

"  JSTot  the  coffee, — no,"  said  Sin  Saxon,  laughing 
rather  absently,  as  too  intent  to  be  purely  amused. 
"  But  the — assaying.  There, — I've  remembered  that 
word,  at  least !  " 

Miss  Craydocke  was  more  than  ever  bewildered. 
"  What  is  it,  my  dear  ?  An  experiment  ?  " 

"  No ;  an  analogy.  Something  that's  been  in  my 
head  these  three  days.  I  can't  make  everything  quite 
clear,  Mr.  Wharne,  but  I  know  it's  there.  I  went,  I 
must  tell  you,  a  little  while  ago,  to  see  some  Colorado 
specimens — ores  and  things — that  some  friends  of  ours 
had,  who  are  interested  in  the  mines;  and  they  talked 
about  the  processes;  and  somebody  explained.  There 
were  gold  and  silver  and  iron  and  copper  and  lead  and 
sulphur,  that  had  all  been  boiled  up  together  some  time, 
and  cooled  into  rock.  And  the  thing  was  to  sort  them 
out.  First,  they  crushed  the  whole  mass  into  powder, 
and  then  did  something  to  it — applied  heat  I  believe — 
to  drive  away  the  sulphur.  That  fumed  off,  and  left  the 
rest  as  promiscuous  as  before.  Then  they — oxidized  the 
lead,  however  they  managed  it,  and  got  that  out.  You 
see  I'm  not  quite  sure  of  the  order  of  things,  or  of  the 


2O4  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

chemical  part.  But  they  got  it  out,  and  something  took 
it.  Then  they  put  in  quicksilver,  and  that  took  hold  of 
the  gold.  Then  there  were  silver  and  copper  and  iron. 
So  they  had  to  put  back  the  lead  again,  and  that  grap 
pled  the  silver.  And  what  they  did  with  the  copper  and 
iron  is  just  what  I  can't  possibly  recollect,  but  they  di 
vided  them  somehow,  and  there  was  the  great  rock-rid 
dle  all  read  out.  Now,  haven't  we  been  just  like  that 
this  summer?  And  I  wonder  if  the  world  isn't  like  it 
somehow?  And  ourselves,  too,  all  muddled  up,  and  not 
knowing  what  we  are  made  of,  till  the  right  chemicals 
touch  us  ?  There's  so  much  in  it,  Mr.  Wharne,  I 
can't  put  it  in  clear  order.  But  it  is  there, — isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  there,"  answered  Mr.  Wharne,  with  the 
briefest  gravity.  For  Miss  Craydocke,  there  were  little 
shining  drops  standing  in  her  eyes,  and  she  tried  not  to 
wink  lest  they  should  fall  out,  pretending  they  had  been 
really  tears.  And  what  was  there  to  cry  about,  you 
know? 

"  Here  we  have  been,"  Sin  Saxon  resumed,  "  all 
crushed  up  together,  and  the  characters  coming  out  little 
by  little,  with  different  things.  Sulphur's  always  the 
first, — heats  up  and  flies  off, — it  don't  take  long  to  find 
that ;  and  common  oxygen  gets  at  common  lead ;  and  so 
on;  but,  dear  Miss  Craydocke,  do  you  know  what  com 
forts  me  ?  That  you  must  have  the  quicksilver  to  dis 
cover  the  gold !  " 

Miss  Craydocke  winked.  She  had  to  do  it  then,  and 
the  two  little  round  drops  fell.  They  went  down,  un 
seen,  into  the  short  pasture-grass,  and  I  wonder  what 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  205 

little  wild-flowers  grew  of  their  watering  some  day  after 
ward. 

It  was  getting  a  little  too  quiet  between  them  now  for 
people  on  a  picnic,  perhaps ;  and  so  in  a  minute  Sin  Saxon 
said  again :  "  It's  good  to  know  there  is  a  way  to  sort 
everything  out.  Perhaps  the  tares  and  wheat  mean  the 
same  thing.  Mr.  Wharne,  why  is  it  that  things  seem 
more  sure  and  true  as  soon  as  we  find  out  we  can  make 
an  allegory  to  them  ?  " 

"  Because  we  do  not  make  the  allegory.  It  is  there  as 
you  have  said.  '  I  will  open  my  mouth  in  parables.  I 
will  utter  things  which  have  been  kept  secret  from  the 
foundation  of  the  world.'  These  things  are  that  speech 
of  God  that  was  in  the  beginning.  The  Word  made 
flesh, — it  is  he  that  interpreteth." 

That  was  too  great  to  give  small  answer  to.  Nobody 
spoke  again  till  Sin  Saxon  had  to  jump  up  to  attend  to 
her  coffee,  that  was  boiling  over,  and  then  they  took  up 
their  little  cares  of  the  feast,  and  their  chat  over  it. 

Cakes  and  coffee,  fruits  and  cream, — I  do  not  care  to 
linger  over  these.  I  would  rather  take  you  to  the  cool, 
shadowy,  solemn  Minster  cavern,  the  deep,  wondrous 
recess  in  the  face  of  solid  rock,  whose  foundation  and 
whose  roof  are  a  mountain ;  or  above,  upon  the  beetling 
crag  that  makes  but  its  porch-lintel,  and  looks  forth  itself 
across  great  air-spaces  toward  its  kindred  cliffs,  lesser  and 
more  mighty,  all  around,  making  one  listen  in  one's  heart 
for  the  awful  voices  wherein  they  call  to  each  other  for- 
evermore. 

The  party  had  scattered  again,  after  the  repast,  and 
Leslie  and  the  Josslyns  had  gone  back  into  the  Minster 


206  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

entrance,  where  they  never  tired  of  standing,  and  out  of 
whose  gloom  now  they  looked  upon  all  the  flood  of  splen 
dor,  rosy,  purple,  and  gold,  which  the  royal  sun  flung 
back — his  last  and  richest  largess — upon  the  heights  that 
looked  longest  after  him.  Mr.  Wharne  and  Miss  Cray- 
docke  climbed  the  cliff.  Sin  Saxon,  on  her  way  up, 
stopped  short  among  the  broken  crags  below.  There  was 
something  very  earnest  in  her  gaze,  as  she  lifted  her  eyes, 
wide  and  beautiful  with  the  wonder  in  them,  to  the  face 
of  granite  upreared  before  her,  and  then  turned  slowly  to 
look  across  and  up  the  valley,  where  other  and  yet  grander 
mountain  ramparts  thrust  their  great  forbiddance  on  the 
reaching  vision.  She  sat  down,  where  she  was,  upon  a 
rock. 

"  You  are  very  tired  ?  "  Frank  Scherman  said,  inquir 
ingly. 

"  See  how  they  measure  themselves  against  each  other," 
Sin  Saxon  said,  for  answer.  "  Look  at  them — Leslie  and 
the  rest — inside  the  Minster  that  arches  up  so  many  times 
their  height  above  their  heads,  yet  what  a  little  bit — a 
mere  mouse-hole — it  is  out  of  the  cliff  itself;  and  then 
look  at  the  whole  cliff  against  the  Ledges,  that,  seen  from 
anywhere  else,  seem  to  run  so  low  along  the  river;  and 
compare  the  Ledges  with  Feather-Cap,  and  Feather-Cap 
with  Giant's  Cairn,  and  Giant's  Cairn  with  Washington, 
thirty  miles  away !  " 

"It  is  grand  surveying,"  said  Frank  Scherman. 

"  I  think  we  see  things  from  the  little  best,"  rejoined 
Sin  Saxon.  "  Washington  is  the  big  end  of  the  tele 
scope." 

"  Now  you  have  made  me  look  at  it,"  said  Frank 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  207 

Scherman,  "  I  don't  think  I  have  been  in  any  other 
spot  that  has  given  me  such  a  real  idea  of  the  moun 
tains  as  this.  One  must  have  steps  to  climb  by,  even  in 
imagination.  How  impertinent  we  are,  rushing  at  the 
tremendousness  of  Washington  in  the  way  we  do ;  scal 
ing  it  in  little  pleasure-wagons,  and  never  taking  in  the 
thought  of  it  at  all !  " 

Something  suddenly  brought  a  flush  to  Sin  Saxon's 
face,  and  almost  a  quiver  to  her  lips.  She  was  sitting 
with  her  hands  clasped  across  her  knees,  and  her  head  a 
little  bent  with  a  downward  look,  after  that  long,  wonder 
ing  mountain  gaze,  that  had  filled  itself  and  then  with 
drawn  for  thought.  She  lifted  her  face  suddenly  to  her 
companion.  The  impetuous  look  was  in  her  eyes. 
"  There's  other  measuring  too,  Frank.  What  a  fool  I've 
been!" 

Frank  Scherman  was  silent.  It  was  a  little  awkward 
for  him,  scarcely  comprehending  what  she  meant.  He 
could  by  no  means  agree  with  Sin  Saxon  when  she  called 
herself  a  fool;  yet  he  hardly  knew  what  he  was  to  con 
tradict. 

"  We're  well  placed  at  this  minute.  Leslie  Qold- 
thwaite  and  Dakie  Thayne  and  the  Josselyns  half-way  up 
above  there,  in  the  Minster.  Mr.  Wharne  and  Miss 
Craydocke  at  the  top.  And  I  down  here,  where  I  belong. 
Impertinence!  To  think  of  the  things  I've  said  in  my 
silliness  to  that  woman,  whose  greatness  I  can  no  more 
measure!  Why  didn't  somebody  stop  me?  I  don't 
answer  for  you,  Frank,  and  I  won't  keep  you;  but  I 
think  I'll  just  stay  where  I  am,  and  not  spoil  the  signifi 
cance  1  " 


208  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

"  I'm  content  to  rank  beside  you ;  we  can  climb  to 
gether,"  said  Frank  Scherman.  "  Even  Miss  Craydocke 
has  not  got  to  the  highest,  you  see,"  he  went  on,  a  little 
hurriedly. 

Sin  Saxon  broke  in  as  hurriedly  as  he,  with  a  deeper 
flush  still  upon  her  face.  "  There's  everything  beyond. 
That's  part  of  it.  But  she  helps  one  to  feel  what  the 
higher — the  Highest — must  be.  She's  like  the  rock 
she  stands  on.  She's  one  of  the  steps." 

"  Come,  Asenath ;  let's  go  up."  And  he  held  out  his 
hand  to  her  till  she  took  it  and  rose.  They  had  known 
each  other  from  childhood,  as  I  said;  but  Frank  Scher 
man  hardly  ever  called  her  by  her  name.  "  Miss  Saxon  " 
was  formal,  and  her  school  sobriquet  he  could  not  use.  It 
seemed  to  mean  a  great  deal  when  he  did  say  "  Asenath." 

And  Sin  Saxon  took  his  hand  and  let  him  lead  her  up, 
notwithstanding  the  "  significance." 

They  are  young,  and  I  am  not  writing  a  love-story; 
but  I  think  they  will  "  climb  together ;  "  and  that  the 
words  that  wait  to  be  said  are  mere  words, — they  have 
known  and  understood  each  other  so  long. 

"  I  feel  like  a  camel  at  a  fountain ;  drinking  in  what  is 
to  last  through  the  dry  places,"  said  Martha  Josselyn,  as 
they  came  up.  "  Miss  Saxon,  you  don't  know  what  you 
have  given  us  to-day.  I  shall  take  home  the  hills  in  my 
heart." 

"  We  might  have  gone  without  seeing  this,"  said  Susan. 

"  N~o,  you  mightn't,"  said  Sin  Saxon.  "  It's  my  good 
luck  to  see  you  see  it,  that's  all.  It  couldn't  be  in  the 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  209 

order  of  things,  you  know,  that  you  should  be  so  near  it, 
and  want  it,  and  not  have  it,  somehow." 

"  So  much  is  in  the  order  of  things,  though !  "  said 
Martha.  "  And  there  are  so  many  things  we  want,  with 
out  knowing  them  even  to  be !  " 

"  That's  the  beauty  of  it,  I  think,"  said  Leslie  Gold- 
thwaite,  turning  back  from  where  she  stood,  bright  in  the 
sunset  glory,  on  the  open  rock.  Her  voice  was  like  that 
of  some  young  prophet  of  joy,  she  was  so  full  of  the  glad 
ness  and  loveliness  of  the  time.  "  That's  the  beauty  of 
it,  I  think.  There  is  such  a  worldful,  and  you  never 
know  what  you  may  be  coming  to  next !  " 

"  Well,  this  is  our  last — of  the  mountains.  We  go  on 
Tuesday." 

"  It  isn't  your  last  of  us,  though,  or  of  what  we  want 
of  you,"  rejoined  Sin  Saxon.  "  We  must  have  the 
tableaux  for  Monday.  We  can't  do  without  you  in  Robin 
Gray  or  Consolation.  And  about  Tuesday, — it's  only 
your  own  making  up  of  minds.  You  haven't  written, 
have  you  ?  They  don't  expect  you  ?  WThen  a  week's 
broken  in  upon,  like  a  dollar,  the  rest  is  of  no  account. 
And  there'll  be  sure  to  be  something  doing,  so  many  are 
going  the  week  after." 

"  We  shall  have  letters  to-night,"  said  Susan.  "  But  I 
think  we  must  go  on  Tuesday." 

Everybody  had  letters  that  night.  The  mail  was  in 
early,  and  Captain  Green  came  up  from  the  post-office  as 
the  Minster  party  was  alighting  from  the  wagons.  He 
gave  Dakie  Thayne  the  bag.  It  was  Dakie's  delight  to 
distribute,  calling  out  the  fortunate  names  as  the  expect- 


2io  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

ant  group  pressed  around  him,  like  people  waiting  the 
issue  of  a  lottery-venture, 

"  Mrs.  Linceford,  Miss  Goldthwaite,  Mrs.  Linceford, 
Mrs.  Lince-iord !  Master — h'm !  Thayne,"  and  he  pock 
eted  a  big  one  like  a  despatch.  "  Captain  Jotham  Green. 
Where  is  he?  Here,  Captain  Green;  you  and  I  have 
got  the  biggest,  if  Mrs.  Linceford  does  get  the  most.  I 
believe  she  tells  her  friends  to  write  in  bits,  and  put  one 
letter  into  three  or  four  envelopes.  When  I  was  a  very 
little  boy,  I  used  to  get  a  dollar  changed  into  a  hundred 
coppers,  and  feel  ever  so  much  richer." 

"  That  boy's  forwardness  is  getting  insufferable ! "  ex 
claimed  Mrs.  Thoresby,  sitting  apart,  with  two  or  three 
others,  who  had  not  joined  the  group  about  Dakie  Thayne. 
'•  And  why  Captain  Green  should  give  him  the  bag  al 
ways,  I  can't  understand.  It  is  growing  to  be  a  positive 
nuisance." 

Nobody  out  of  the  Thoresby  clique  thought  it  so. 
They  had  a  merry  time  together, — "  you  and  I  and  the 
post,"  as  Dakie  said.  But  then,  between  you  and  me 
and  that  confidential  personage,  Mrs.  Thoresby  and  her 
daughters  hadn't  very  many  letters. 

"  That  is  all,"  said  Dakie,  shaking  the  bag.  "  They're 
only  for  the  very  good,  to-night."  He  was  not  saucy:  he 
was  only  brimming-over  glad.  He  knew  "  Noll's " 
square  handwriting,  and  his  big  envelopes. 

There  was  great  news  to-night  at  the  Cottage.  They 
were  to  have  a  hero — perhaps  two  or  three — among 
them.  General  Ingleside  and  friends  were  coming,  early 
in  the  week,  the  Captain  told  them  with  expansive  face. 
There  are  a  great  many  generals  and  a  great  many  he- 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  211 

roes  now.  This  man  had  been  a  hero  beside  Sheridan, 
and  under  Sherman.  'Colonel  Ingleside  he  was  at  Stone 
River  and  Chattanooga,  leading  a  brave  Western  regi 
ment  in  desperate,  magnificent  charges,  whose  daring 
helped  to  turn  that  terrible  point  of  the  war  and  made  his 
fame. 

But  Leslie,  though  her  heart  stirred  at  the  thought  of 
a  real,  great  commander  fresh  from  the  field,  had  her  own 
newg  that  half  neutralized  the  excitement  of  the  other. 
Cousin  Delight  was  coming,  to  share  her  room  with  her 
for  the  last  fortnight. 

The  Josselyns  got  their  letters.  Aunt  Lucy  was  stay 
ing  on.  Aunt  Lucy's  husband  had  gone  away  to  preach 
for  three  Sundays  for  a  parish  where  he  had  a  prospect 
of  a  call.  Mrs.  Josselyn  could  not  leave  home  imme 
diately,  therefore,  although  the  girls  should  return ;  and 
their  room  was  the  airiest  for  Aunt  Lucy.  There  was  no 
reason  why  they  should  not  prolong  their  holiday  if  they 
chose,  and  they  might  hardly  ever  get  away  to  the  moun 
tains  again.  More  than  all,  Uncle  David  was  off  once 
more  for  China  and  Japan,  and  had  given  his  sister  two 
more  fifties, — "  for  what  did  a  sailor  want  of  greenbacks 
after  he  got  afloat  ?  "  It  was  a  "  clover  summer  "  for  the 
Josselyns.  Uncle  David  and  his  fifties  wouldn't  be  back 
among  them  for  two  years  or  more.  They  must  make 
the  most  of  it. 

Sin  Saxon  sat  up  late,  writing  this  letter  to  her  mother. 

"  DARLING  MAMMA  : — 

"  I've  just  begun  to  find  out  really  what  to  do  here. 
Cream  doesn't  always  rise  to  the  top.  You  remember 


212  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

the  Josselyns,  our  quiet  neighbors  in  town,  that  lived  in 
the  little  house  in  the  old-fashioned  block  opposite,— Sue 
Josselyn,  Effie's  schoolmate  ?  And  how  they  used  to  tell 
me  stories,  and  keep  me  to  nursery-tea  ?  Well,  they're 
the  cream, — they  and  Miss  Craydocke.  Sue  has  been  in 
the  hospitals, — two  years,  mamma! — while  I've  been 
learning  nocturnes,  and  going  to  Germans.  And  Martha 
has  been  at  home,  sewing  her  face  sharp;  and  they're 
here  now  to  get  rounded  out.  Well,  now,  mamma,  I 
want  so — a  real  dish  of  mountains  and  cream,  if  you  ever 
heard  of  such  a  thing!  I  want  to  take  a  wagon,  and  in 
vite  a  party  as  I  did  my  little  one  to  Minster  Rock,  and 
go  through  the  hills, — be  gone  as  many  days  as  you  will 
send  me  money  for.  And  I  want  you  to  take  the  money 
from  that  particular  little  corner  of  your  purse  where  my 
carpet  and  wall-paper  and  curtains,  that  were  to  new- 
furnish  my  room  on  my  leaving  school,  are  metaphorically 
rolled  up.  There's  plenty  there,  you  know;  for  you 
promised  me  my  choice  of  everything,  and  I  had  fixed  on 

that  lovely  pearl-gray  paper  at 's,  with  the  ivy  and 

holly  pattern,  and  the  ivy  and  scarlet-geranium  carpet 
that  was  such  a  match.  I'll  have  something  cheaper,  or 
nothing  at  all,  and  thank  you  unutterably,  if  you'll  only 
let  me  have  my  way  in  this.  It  will  do  me  so  much  good, 
mamma !  More  than  you've  the  least  idea  of.  People 
can  do  without  French  paper  and  Brussels  carpets,  but 
everybody  has  a  right  to  mountain  and  sea  and  cloud 
glory, — only  they  don't  half  of  them  get  it,  and  perhaps 
that's  the  other  half's  look-out ! 

"  I  know  you'll  understand  me,  mamma,  particularly 
when  I  talk  sense;  for  you  always  understood  my  non- 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  213 

sense  when  nobody  else  did.     And  I'm  going  to  do  your 
faith  and  discrimination  credit  yet. 

"  Your  bad  child, — with  just  a  small,  hidden  savor  of 
grace  in  her,  being  your  child. 

"  ASENATH    SAXON." 


214  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 


XII. 

•was  a  day  of  hammering,  basting,  drap 
ing,  dressing,  rehearsing,  running  from  room  to  room. 
Up  stairs,  in  Mrs.  Green's  garret,  Leslie  Goldthwaite  and 
Dakie  Thayne,  with  a  third  party  never  before  introduced 
upon  the  stage,  had  a  private  practising ;  and  at  tea-time, 
when  the  great  hall  was  cleared,  they  got  up  there  with 
Sin  Saxon  and  Frank  Schermac,  locked  the  doors,  and  in 
costume,  with  regular  accompaniment  of  bell  and  curtain, 
the  performance  was  repeated. 

Dakie  Thayne  was  stage-manager  and  curtain-puller; 
Sin  Saxon  and  Frank  Scherman  represented  audience, 
with  clapping  and  stamping,  and  laughtsr  that  suspended 
both, — making  as  nearly  the  noise  of  two  hundred  as  two 
could, — this  being  an  essential  part  of  the  rehearsal  in 
respect  to  the  untried  nerves  of  the  debutant,  which 
might  easily  be  a  little  uncertain. 

"  He  stands  fire  like  a  Yankee  veteran." 

"  It's  inimitable,"  said  Sin  Saxon,  wiping  the  moist 
merriment  from  her  eyes.  "  And  your  cap,  Leslie !  And 
that  bonnet !  And  this  unutterable  old  oddity  of  a  gown ! 
Who  did  contrive  it  all  ?  and  where  did  they  come  from  ? 
You'll  carry  off  the  glory  of  the  evening.  It  ought  to  be 
the  last." 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  Leslie.    "  Barbara  Frietchie  must 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  215 

be  last,  of  course.    But  I'm  so  glad  you  think  it  will  do. 
I  hope  they'll  be  amused." 

"  Amused !    If  you  could  only  see  your  own  face !  " 
"  I  see  Sir  Charles's,  and  that  makes  mine." 
The  new  performer,  you  perceive,  was  an  actor  with  a 
title. 

That  night's  coach,  driving  up  while  the  dress-rehearsal 
of  the  other  tableaux  was  going  on  at  the  hall,  brought 
Cousin  Delight  to  the  Green  Cottage,  and  Leslie  met  her 
at  the  door. 

Sunday  morning  was  a  pause  and  rest  and  hush  of 
beauty  and  joy.  They  sat — Delight  and  Leslie — by 
their  open  window,  where  the  smell  of  the  lately  har 
vested  hay  came  over  from  the  wide,  sunshiny  entrance  of 
the  great  barn,  and  away  beyond  stretched  the  pine  woods, 
and  the  hills  swelled  near  in  dusky  evergreen,  and  indigo 
shadows,  and  lessened  far  down  toward  Winnipiseogee,  to 
where,  faint  and  tender  and  blue,  the  outline  of  little  Os- 
sipee  peeped  in  between  great  shoulders  so  modestly, — 
seen  only  through  the  clearest  air  on  days  like  this.  Les 
lie's  little  table,  with  fresh  white  cover,  held  a  vase  of 
ferns  and  white  convolvulus  and  beside  this  Cousin 
Delight's  two  books  that  came  out  always  from  the  top 
of  her  trunk, — her  Bible  and  her  little  "  Daily  Food." 
To-day  the  verses  from  Old  and  New  Testaments  were 
these : — "  The  steps  of  a  good  man  are  ordered  by  the 
Lord,  and  he  delighteth  in  his  way."  "  Walk  circum 
spectly,  not  as  fools,  but  as  wise,  redeeming  the  time." 

They  had  a  talk  about  the  first, — "  The  steps," — the 
little  details, — not  merely  the  general  trend  and  final  is 
sue  ;  if,  indeed,  these  could  be  directed  without  the  other. 


216  A  Summer  in  Lteslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

"  You  always  make  me  see  things,  Cousin  Delight," 
Leslie  said. 

"  It  is  very  plain,"  Delight  answered ;  "  if  people 
only  would  read  the  Bible  as  they  read  even  a  careless 
letter  from  a  friend,  counting  each  word  of  value,  and 
searching  for  more  meaning  and  fresh  inference  to  draw 
out  the  most.  One  word  often  answers  great  doubts  and 
askings  that  have  troubled  the  world." 

Afterward,  they  walked  round  by  a  still  wood-path  un 
der  the  Ledge  to  the  North  Village,  where  there  was  a 
service.  It  was  a  plain  little  church,  with  unpainted 
pews ;  but  the  windows  looked  forth  upon  a  green  moun 
tain-side,  and  whispers  of  oaks  and  pines  and  river-music 
crept  in,  and  the  breath  of  sweet  water-lilies,  heaped  in  a 
great  bowl  upon  the  communion-table  of  common  stained 
cherry-wood,  floated  up  and  filled  the  place.  The  minis 
ter,  a  quiet,  gray-haired  man,  stayed  his  foot  an  instant  at 
that  simple  altar,  before  he  went  up  the  few  steps  to  the 
desk.  He  had  a  sermon  in  his  pocket  from  the  text, 
"  The  hairs  of  your  heads  are  all  numbered."  He 
changed  it  at  the  moment  in  his  mind,  and,  when  pres 
ently  he  rose  to  preach,  gave  forth,  in  a  tone  touched, 
through  the  fresh  presence  of  that  reminding  beauty, 
with  the  very  spontaneousness  of  the  Master's  own  say 
ing, — "  Consider  the  lilies."  And  then  he  told  them  of 
God's  momently  thought  and  care. 

There  were  scattered  strangers,  from  various  houses, 
among  the  simple  rural  congregation.  "Walking  home 
through  the  pines  again,  Delight  and  Leslie  and  Dakie 
Thayne  found  themselves  preceded  and  followed  along 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  217 

the  narrow  way.  Sin  Saxon  and  Frank  Schennan  came 
up  and  joined  them  when  the  wider  openings  permitted, 

Two  persons  just  in  front  were  commenting  upon  the 
sermon. 

"  Very  fair  for  a  country  parson,"  said  a  tall,  elegant- 
looking  man,  whose  broad,  intellectual  brow  was  touched 
by  dark  hair  slightly  frosted,  and  whose  lip  had  the  curve 
that  betokens  self-reliance  and  strong  decision, — "  very 
fair.  All  the  better  for  not  flying  too  high.  Narrow,  of 
course.  He  seems  to  think  the  Almighty  has  nothing- 
grander  to  do  than  to  finger  every  little  cog  of  the  tre 
mendous  machinery  of  the  universe, — that  he  measures 
out  the  ocean  of  his  purposes  as  we  drop  a  liquid  from 
a  phial.  To  me  it  seems  belittling  the  Infinite." 

"  I  don't  know  whether  it  is  littleness  or  greatness, 
Robert,  that  must  escape  minutia3,"  said  his  companion, 
apparently  his  wife.  "  If  we  could  reach  to  the  particles, 
perhaps  we  might  move  the  mountains." 

"  We  never  agree  upon  this,  Margie.  We  won't  be 
gin  again.  To  my  mind,  the  grand  plan  of  things  was 
settled  ages  ago, — the  impulses  generated  that  must  needs 
work  on.  Foreknowledge  and  intention,  doubtless:  in 
that  sense  the  hairs  were  numbered.  But  that  there  is  a 
special  direction  and  interference  to-day  for  you  and  me 
— well,  we  won't  argue,  as  I  said;  but  I  never  can  con- 
ceire  it  so ;  and  I  think  a  wider  look  at  the  world  brings 
a  question  to  all  such  primitive  faith." 

The  speakers  turned  down  a  side-way  with  this,  leaving 
the  ledge  path  and  their  subject  to  our  friends.  Only  to 
their  thoughts  at  first ;  but  presently  Cousin  Delight  said, 


218  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

in  a  quiet  tone,  to  Leslie,  "  That  doesn't  account  for  the 
steps,  does  it  ?  " 

"  I  am  glad  it  cant"  said  Leslie. 

Dakie  Thayne  turned  a  look  toward  Leslie,  as  if  he 
would  gladly  know  of  what  she  spoke, — a  look  in  which 
a  kind  of  gentle  reverence  was  strangely  mingled  with 
the  open  friendliness.  I  cannot  easily  indicate  to  you  the 
sort  of  feeling  with  which  the  boy  had  come  to  regard 
this  young  girl,  just  above  him  in  years  and  thought  and 
in  the  attitude  which  true  womanhood,  young  or  old, 
takes  toward  man.  He  had  no  sisters;  he  had  been  in 
timately  associated  with  no  girl-companions ;  he  had  lived 
with  his  brother  and  an  uncle  and  a  young  aunt,  Rose. 
Leslie  Goldthwaite's  kindness  had  drawn  him  into  the 
sphere  of  a  new  and  powerful  influence, — something  dif 
ferent  in  thought  and  purpose  from  the  apparent  un- 
thought  about  her;  and  this  lifted  her  up  in  his  regard 
and  enshrined  her  with  a  sort  of  pure  sanctity.  He  was 
sometimes  really  timid  before  her,  in  the  midst  of  his 
frank  chivalry. 

"  I  wish  you'd  tell  me,"  he  said  suddenly,  falling  back 
with  her  as  the  path  narrowed  again.  "  What  are  the 
1  steps  '  ?  " 

"  It  was  a  verse  we  found  this  morning, — Cousin  De 
light  and  I,"  Leslie  answered ;  and  as  she  spoke  the  color 
came  up  full  in  her  cheeks,  and  her  voice  was  a  little  shy 
and  tremulous.  "  l  The  steps  of  a  good  man  are  ordered 
by  the  Lord.'  That  one  word  seemed  to  make  one  cer 
tain.  l  Steps,' — not  path,  nor  the  end  of  it ;  but  all  the 
way."  Somehow  she  was  quite  out  of  breath  as  she 
finished. 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life  219 

Meantime  Sin  Saxon  and  Frank  had  got  with  Miss 
Goldthwaite,  and  were  talking  too. 

"  Set  spinning,"  they  heard  Sin  Saxon  say,  "  and  then 
let  go.  That  was  his  idea.  Well !  Only  it  seems  to  me 
there's  been  especial  pains  taken  to  show  us  it  can't  be 
done.  Or  else,  why  don't  they  find  out  perpetual  mo 
tion?  Everything  stops  after  a  while,  unless — I  can't 
talk  theologically,  but  I  mean  all  right — you  hit  it 
again." 

"  You've  a  way  of  your  own  of  putting  things,  Ase- 
nath,"  said  Frank  Scherman, — with  a  glance  that  beamed 
kindly  and  admiringly  upon  her  and  "  her  way," — "  but 
you've  put  that  clear  to  me  as  nobody  else  ever  did.  A 
proof  set  in  the  very  laws  themselves, — momentum  that 
must  lessen  and  lose  itself  with  the  square  of  the  distance. 
The  machinery  cavil  won't  do." 

"  Wheels ;  but  a  living  spirit  within  the  wheels,"  said 
Cousin  Delight. 

"  Every  instant  a  fresh  impulse ;  to  think  of  it  so 
makes  it  real,  Miss  Goldthwaite, — and  grand  and  aw 
ful."  The  young  man  spoke  with  a  strength  in  the  clear 
voice  that  could  be  so  light  and  gay. 

"  And  tender,  too.  '  Thou  layest  Thine  hand  upon 
me,'  "  said  Delight  Goldthwaite. 

Sin  Saxon  was  quiet;  her  own  thought  coming  back 
upon  her  with  a  reflective  force,  and  a  thrill  at  her 
heart  at  Frank  Scherman's  words.  Had  these  two  only 
planned  tableaux  and  danced  Germans  together  before  ? 

Dakie  Thayne  walked  on  by  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  side, 
in  his  happy  content  touched  with  something  higher  and 
brighter  through  that  instant's  approach  and  confidence. 


220  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

If  I  were  to  write  down  his  thought  as  he  walked,  it 
would  be  with  phrase  and  distinction  peculiar  to  himself 
and  to  the  boy-mind, — "  It's  the  real  thing  with  her ;  it 
don't  make  a  fellow  squirm  like  a  pin  put  out  at  a  cater 
pillar.  She's  good;  but  she  isn't  pious!" 

This  was  the  Sunday  that  lay  between  the  busy  Satur 
day  and  Monday.  "  It  is  always  so  wherever  Cousin 
Delight  is,"  Leslie  Goldthwaite  said  to  herself,  comparing 
it  with  other  Sundays  that  had  gone.  Yet  she  too,  for 
weeks  before,  by  the  truth  that  had  come  into  her  own 
life  and  gone  out  from  it,  had  been  helping  to  make  these 
moments  possible.  She  had  been  shone  upon,  and  had 
put  forth ;  henceforth  she  should  scarcely  know  when  the 
fruit  was  ripening  or  sowing  itself  anew,  or  the  good  and 
gladness  of  it  were  at  human  lips. 

She  was  in  Mrs.  Linceford's  room  on  Monday  morning, 
putting  high  yelvet-covered  corks  to  the  heels  of  her 
slippers,  when  Sin  Saxon  came  over  hurriedly,  and  tapped 
at  the  door. 

"  Could  you  be  two  old  women  ?  "  she  asked,  the  in 
stant  Leslie  opened.  "  Ginevra  Thoresby  has  given  out. 
She  says  it's  her  cold, — that  she  doesn't  feel  equal  to 
it;  but  the  amount  of  it  is,  she  got  her  chill  with  the 
Shannons  going  away  so  suddenly,  and  the  Amy  Robsart 
and  Queen  Elizabeth  picture  being  dropped.  There  was 
nothing  else  to  put  her  in,  and  so  she  won't  be  Barbara." 

"  Won't  be  Barbara  Frietchie !  "  cried  Leslie,  with  an 
astonishment  as  if  it  had  been  angelhood  refused. 

"  No.  Barbara  Frietchie  is  only  an  old  woman  in  a 
cap  and  kerchief,  and  she  just  puts  her  head  out  of  a 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  221 

window:  the  flag  is  the  whole  of  it,  Ginevra  Thoresby 
says." 

"  May  I  do  it  ?  Do  you  think  I  can  be  different 
enough  in  the  two  ?  Will  there  be  time  ?  "  Leslie  ques 
tioned  eagerly. 

"  We'll  change  the  programme,  and  put  {  Taking  the 
Oath '  between.  The  caps  can  be  different,  and  you  can 
powder  your  hair  for  one,  and — would  it  do  to  ask  Miss 
Craydocke  for  a  front  for  the  other?  Sin  Saxon  had 
grown  delicate  in  hei  feeling  for  the  dear  old  friend 
whose  hair  had  once  been  golden. 

"  I'll  tell  her  about  it,  and  ask  her  to  help  me  con 
trive.  She'll  be  sure  to  think  of  anything  that  can  be 
thought  of." 

"  Only  there's  the  dance  afterward,  and  you  had  so 
much  more  costume  for  the  other,"  Sin  Saxon  said, 
demurringly. 

"  Never  mind.  I  shall  be  Barbara ;  and  Barbara 
wouldn't  dance,  I  suppose." 

"  Mother  Hubbard  would,  marvellously." 

"  Never  mind,"  Leslie  answered  again,  laying  down 
the  little  slipper,  finished. 

"  She  don't  care  what  she  is,  so  that  she  helps  along," 
Sin  Saxon  said  of  her,  rejoining  the  others  in  the  hall. 
"  I'm  ashamed  of  myself  and  all  the  rest  of  you,  beside 
her.  Now  make  yourselves  as  fine  as  you  please." 

We  must  pass  over  the  hours  as  only  stories  and  dreams 
do,  and  put  ourselves,  at  ten  of  the  clock  that  night,  be 
hind  the  green  curtain  and  the  footlights,  in  the  blaze  of 
the  three  rows  of  bright  lamps,  that,  one  above  another, 


222  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

poured  their  illumination  from  the  left  upon  the  stage,  be 
hind  the  wide  picture-frame. 

Susan  Josselyn  and  Frank  Scherman  were  just 
"  posed  "  for  "  Consolation."  They  had  given  Susan  this 
part,  after  all,  because  they  wanted  Martha  for  "  Taking 
the  Oath,"  afterward.  Leslie  Goldthwaite  was  giving  a 
hasty  touch  to  the  tent  drapery  and  the  gray  blanket; 
Leonard  Brookhouse  and  Dakie  Thayne  manned  the  hal 
yards  for  raising  the  curtain;  there  was  the  usual  scut 
tling  about  the  stage  for  hasty  clearance ;  and  Sin  Saxon's 
hand  was  on  the  bell,  when  Grahame  Lowe  sprang 
hastily  in  through  the  dressing-room  upon  the  scene. 

"  Hold  on  a  minute,"  he  said  to  Brookhouse.  "  Miss 
Saxon,  General  Ingleside  and  party  are  over  at  Green's, 
— been  there  since  nine  o'clock.  Oughtn't  we  to  send 
compliments  or  something,  before  we  finish  up  ?  " 

Then  there  was  a  pressing  forward  and  an  excitement. 
The  wounded  soldier  sprang  from  his  couch ;  the  nun 
came  nearer,  with  a  quick  light  in  her  eye;  Leslie  Gold 
thwaite,  in  her  mob  cap,  quilted  petticoat,  big-flowered 
calico  train,  and  high-heeled  shoes;  two  or  three  super 
numeraries,  in  Rebel  gray,  with  bayonets,  coming  on  in 
"  Barbara  Frietchie  " ;  and  Sir  Charles,  bouncing  out 
from  somewhere  behind,  to  the  great  hazard  of  the  frame 
of  lights, — huddled  together  upon  the  stage  and  consulted. 
Dakie  Thayne  had  dropped  his  cord  and  almost  made  a 
rush  off  at  the  first  announcement;  but  he  stood  now, 
with  a  repressed  eagerness  that  trembled  through  every 
fibre,  and  waited. 

"  Would  he  come  ?  "  "  Isn't  it  too  late  ?  "  "  Would 
it  be  any  compliment  ?  "  "  Won't  it  be  rude  not  to  ?  " 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  223 

"  All  the  patriotic  pieces  are  just  coming !  "  "  Will  the 
audience  like  to  wait  ?  "  "  Make  a  speech  and  tell  'em. 
You,  Brookhouse."  "  O,  he  must  come !  Barbara  Friet- 
chie  and  the  flag!  Just  think!"  "  Isn't  it  grand  ?" 
"  O,  I'm  so  frightened !  "  These  were  the  hurried  sen 
tences  that  made  the  buzz  behind  the  scenes;  while  in 
front  "  all  the  world  wondered."  Meanwhile,  lamps 
trembled,  the  curtain  vibrated,  the  very  framework 
swayed. 

"  What  is  it  ?  Fire  ?  "  queried  a  nervous  voice  from 
near  the  footlights. 

"  This  won't  do,"  said  Frank  Scherman.  "  Speak  to 
them,  Brookhouse.  Dakie  Thayne,  run  over  to  Green's, 
and  say, — The  ladies'  compliments  to  General  Ingleside 
and  friends,  and  beg  the  honor  of  their  presence  at  the 
concluding  tableaux." 

Dakie  was  off  with  a  glowing  face.  Something  like  an 
odd,  knowing  smile  twinkling  out  from  the  glow  also,  as 
he  looked  up  at  Scherman  and  took  his  orders.  All  this 
while  he  had  said  nothing. 

Leonard  Brookhouse  made  his  little  speech,  received 
with  applause  and  a  cheer.  Then  they  quieted  down 
behind  the  scenes,  and  a  rustle  and  buzz  began  in  front, — 
kept  up  for  five  minutes  or  so,  in  gentle  fashion,  till  two 
gentlemen,  in  plain  clothes,  walked  quietly  in  at  the  open 
door;  at  sight  of  whom,  with  instinctive  certainty,  the 
whole  assembly  rose.  Leslie  Goldthwaite,  peeping 
through  the  folds  of  the  curtain,  saw  a  tall,  grand-looking 
man,  in  what  may  be  called  the  youth  of  middle  age, 
every  inch  a  soldier,  bowing  as  he  was  ushered  forward 
to  a  seat  vacated  for  him,  and  followed  by  one  younger, 


224  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

who  modestly  ignored  the  notice  intended  for  his  chief. 
Dakie  Thayne  was  making  his  way,  with  eyes  alight  and 
excited,  down  a  side  passage  to  his  post. 

Then  the  two  actors  hurried  once  more  into  position; 
the  stage  was  cleared  by  a  whispered  peremptory  order; 
the  bell  rung  once,  the  tent  trembling  with  some  one 
whisking  further  out  of  sight  behind  it, — twice,  and  the 
curtain  rose  upon  "  Consolation." 

Lovely  as  the  picture  is,  it  was  lovelier  in  the  living 
tableau.  There  was  something  deep  and  intense  in  the 
pale  calm  of  Susan  Josselyn's  face,  which  they  had  not 
counted  on  even  when  they  discovered  that  hers  was  the 
very  face  for  the  "  Sister."  Something  made  you  thrill 
at  the  thought  of  what  those  eyes  would  show,  if  the  down 
cast,  quiet  lids  were  raised.  The  earnest  gaze  of  the 
dying  soldier  met  more,  perhaps,  in  its  uplifting;  for 
Frank  Scherman  had  a  look,  in  this  instant  of  enacting, 
that  he  had  never  got  before  in  all  his  practisings.  The 
picture  was  too  real  for  applause, — almost,  it  suddenly 
seemed,  for  representation. 

"  Don't  I  know  that  face,  Noll  ?  "  General  Ingleside 
asked,  in  a  low  tone,  of  his  companion. 

Instead  of  answering  at  once,  the  younger  man  bent 
further  forward  toward  the  stage,  and  his  own  very  plain, 
broad,  honest  face,  full  over  against  the  downcast  one  of 
the  Sister  of  Mercy,  took  upon  itself  that  force  of  mag 
netic  expression  which  makes  a  look  felt  even  across  a 
crowd  of  other  glances,  as  if  there  were  but  one,  straight 
line  of  vision,  and  that  between  such  two.  The  curtain 
was  going  slowly  down;  the  veiling  lids  trembled,  and 
the  paleness  replaced  itself  with  a  slow-mounting  flush 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  225 

of  color  over  the  features,  still  held  motionless.  They 
let  the  cords  run  more  quickly  then.  She  was  getting 
tired,  they  said;  the  curtain  had  been  up  too  long.  Be 
that  as  it  might,  nothing  could  persuade  Susan  Josselyn 
to  sit  again,  and  "  Consolation  "  could  not  be  repeated. 

So  then  came  "  Mother  Hubbard  and  her  dog," — the 
slow  old  lady  and  the  knowing  beast  that  was  always  get 
ting  one  step  ahead  of  her.  The  possibility  had  occurred 
to  Leslie  Goldthwaite  as  she  and  Dakie  Thayne  amused 
themselves  one  day  with  Captain  Green's  sagacious  Sir 
Charles  Grandison,  a  handsome  black  spaniel,  whose 
trained  accomplishment  was  to  hold  himself  patiently  in 
any  posture  in  which  he  might  be  placed,  until  the  word 
of  release  was  given.  You  might  stand  him  on  his  hind 
logs,  with  paws  folded  on  his  breast;  you  might  extend 
him  on  his  back,  with  helpless  legs  in  air ;  you  might  put 
him  in  any  attitude  possible  to  be  maintained,  and  main 
tain  it  he  would,  faithfully,  until  the  signal  was  made. 
From  this  prompting  came  the  Illustration  of  Mother 
Hubbard.  Also,  Leslie  Goldthwaite  had  seized  the  hid 
den  suggestion  of  application,  and  hinted  it  in  certain 
touches  of  costume  and  order  of  performance.  Nobody 
would  think,  perhaps,  at  first,  that  the  striped  scarlet  and 
white  petticoat  under  the  tucked-up  train,  or  the  common 
print  apron  of  dark  blue,  figured  with  innumerable  little 
white  stars,  meant  anything  beyond  the  ordinary  adjuncts 
of  a  traditional  old  woman's  dress;  but  when,  in  the 
second  scene,  the  bonnet  went  on, — an  ancient  marvel 
of  exasperated  front  and  crown,  pitched  over  the  fore 
head  like  an  enormous  helmet,  and  decorated,  upon  the 
side  next  the  audience,  with  black  and  white  eagle 


226  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

plumes  springing  straight  up  from  the  fastening  of  an 
American  shield, — above  all,  when  the  dog  himself  ap 
peared,  "  dressed  in  his  clothes  "  (a  cane,  an  all-round 
white  collar  and  a  natty  little  tie,  a  pair  of  three-dollar 
tasselled  kid-gloves  dangling  from  his  left  paw,  and  a 
small  monitor  hat  with  a  big  spread-eagle  stuck  above  the 
brim, — the  remaining  details  of  costume  being  of  no  con 
sequence)  , — when  he  stood  "  reading  the  news  "  from  a 
huge  bulletin,— "  LATEST  BY  CABLE  FROM 
EUROPE," — nobody  could  mistake  the  personification 
of  Old  and  Young  America. 

It  had  cost  much  pains  and  many  dainty  morsels,  to 
drill  Sir  Charles,  with  all  the  aid  of  his  excellent  funda 
mental  education;  and  the  great  fear  had  been  that  he 
might  fail  them  at  the  last.  But  the  scenes  were  rapid, 
in  consideration  of  canine  infirmity.  If  the  cupboard  was 
empty,  Mother  Hubbard's  basket  behind  was  not ;  he  got 
his  morsels  duly ;  and  the  audience  was  "  requested  to 
refrain  from  applause  until  the  end."  Refrain  from 
laughter  they  could  not,  as  the  idea  dawned  upon  them 
and  developed;  but  Sir  Charles  was  used  to  that  in  the 
execution  of  his  ordinary  tricks;  he  could  hardly  have 
done  without  it  better  than  any  other  old  actor.  A  dog 
knows  when  he  is  having  his  day,  to  say  nothing  of  doing 
his  duty ;  and  these  things  are  as  sustaining  to  him  as  to 
anybody.  This  state  of  his  mind,  manifest  in  his  air, 
helped  also  to  complete  the  Young  America  expression. 
Mother  Hubbard's  mingled  consternation  and  pride  at 
each  successive  achievement  of  her  astonishing  puppy 
were  inimitable.  Each  separate  illustration  made  its 
point.  Patriotism,  especially,  came  in  when  the  under- 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  227 

taker,  bearing  the  pall  with  red-lettered  border, — Rebel 
lion, — finds  the  dog,  with  upturned,  knowing  eye,  and 
parted  jaws,  suggestive  as  much  of  a  good  grip  as  of 
laughter,  half  risen  upon  fore-paws,  as  far  from  "  dead  " 
as  ever,  mounting  guard  over  the  old  bone  "  Constitu 
tion." 

The  curtain  fell  at  last,  amid  peals  of  applause  and 
calls  for  the  actors. 

Dakie  Thayne  had  accompanied  with  the  reading  of 
the  ballad,  slightly  transposed  and  adapted.  As  Leslie 
led  Sir  Charles  before  the  curtain,  in  response  to  the  con 
tinued  demand,  he  added  the  concluding  stanza, — 

"  The  dame  made  a  courtesy, 

The  dog  made  a  bow  ; 
The  dame  said,  '  Your  servant,' 
The  dog  said,  'Bow-wow.'" 

Which,  with  a  suppressed  "  Speak,  sir !  "  from  Frank 
Scherman,  was  brought  properly  to  pass.  Done  with 
cleverness  and  quickness  from  beginning  to  end,  and  tak 
ing  the  audience  utterly  by  surprise,  Leslie's  little  com 
bination  of  wit  and  sagacity  had  been  throughout  a  signal 
success.  The  actors  crowded  round  her.  "  We'd  no 
idea  of  it !  "  "  Capital !  "  "A  great  hit !  "  they  ex 
claimed.  "  Mother  Hubbard  is  the  star  of  the  evening," 
said  Leonard  Brookhouse.  "  No,  indeed,"  returned  Les 
lie,  patting  Sir  Charles's  head, — "  this  is  the  dog-star." 
'"  Rather  a  Sirius  reflection  upon  the  rest  of  us,"  rejoined 
Brookhouse,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  as  he  walked  off  to 
take  his  place  in  the  "  Oath,"  and  Leslie  disappeared  to 
make  ready  for  "  Barbara  Frietchie." 

Several  persons,  before  and  behind  the  curtain,  were 


228  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

making  up  their  minds,  just  now,  to  a  fresh  opinion. 
There  was  nothing  so  very  slow  or  tame,  after  all,  about 
Leslie  Goldthwaite.  Several  others  had  known  that  long 
ago. 

"  Taking  the  Oath  "  was  piquant  and  spirited.  The 
touch  of  restive  scorn  that  could  come  out  on  Martha 
Josselyn's  face  just  suited  her  part;  and  Leonard  Brook- 
house  was  very  cool  and  courteous,  and  handsome  and 
gentlemanly-triumphant  as  the  Union  officer. 

"  Barbara  Frietchie "  was  grand.  Grahame  Lowe 
played  Stonewall  Jackson.  They  had  improvised  a 
pretty  bit  of  scenery  at  the  back,  with  a  few  sticks,  some 
paint,  brown  carpet-paper,  and  a  couple  of  mosquito-bars ; 
— a  Dutch  gable  with  a  lattice  window,  vines  trained  up 
over  it,  and  bushes  below.  It  was  a  moving  tableau, 
enacted  to  the  reading  of  Whittier's  glorious  ballad. 
"  Only  an  old  woman  in  a  cap  and  kerchief,  putting  her 
head  out  at  a  garret  window," — that  was  all ;  but  the  fire 
was  in  the  young  eyes  under  the  painted  wrinkles  and  the 
snowy  hair ;  the  arm  stretched  itself  out  quick  and  bravely 
at  the  very  instant  of  the  pistol-shot  that  startled  timid 
ears ;  one  skilful  movement  detached  and  seized  the  staff 
in  its  apparent  fall,  and  the  liberty-colors  flashed  full  in 
Rebel  faces,  as  the  broken  lower  fragment  went  clattering 
to  the  stage.  All  depended  on  the  one  instant  action  and 
expression.  These  were  perfect.  The  very  spirit  of 
Barbara  stirred  her  representative.  The  curtain  began  to 
descend  slowly,  and  the  applause  broke  forth  before  the 
reading  ended.  But  a  hand,  held  up,  hushed  it  till  the 
concluding  lines  were  given  in  thrilling  tones,  as  the 
tableau  was  covered  from  sight. 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  229 

"  Barbara  Frietchie's  work  is  o'er, 
And  the  Rebel  rides  on  his  raids  no  more. 

"  Honor  to  her  !  and  let  a  tear 
Fall,  for  her  sake,  on  Stonewall's  bier. 

"Over Barbara  Frietchie's  grave, 
Flag  of  Freedom  and  Union,  wave  ! 

"  Peace  and  order  and  beauty  draw 
Round  thy  symbol  of  light  and  law  ; 

"  And  ever  the  stars  above  look  down 
On  thy  stars  below  in  Frederick  town  ! " 

Then  one  great  cheer  broke  forth,  and  was  prolonged  to 
three. 

"  Not  be  Barbara  Frietchie !  "  Leslie  would  not  have 
missed  that  thrill  for  the  finest  beauty-part  of  all.  For 
the  applause — that  was  for  the  flag,  of  course,  as  Ginevra 
Thoresby  said. 

The  benches  were  slid  out  at  a  window  upon  a  lower 
roof,  the  curtain  was  looped  up,  and  the  footlights  carried 
away ;  the  "  music  "  came  up,  and  took  possession  of  the 
stage;  and  the  audience  hall  resolved  itself  into  a  ball 
room.  Under  the  chandelier,  in  the  middle,  a  tableau 
not  set  forth  in  the  programme  was  rehearsed  and  added 
a  few  minutes  after. 

Mrs.  Thoresby,  of  course,  had  been  introduced  to  the 
General ;  Mrs.  Thoresby,  with  her  bright,  full,  gray  curls 
and  her  handsome  figure,  stood  holding  him  in  conversa 
tion  between  introductions,  graciously  waiving  her  privi 
lege  as  new-comers  claimed  their  modest  word.  Mrs. 
Thoresby  took  possession;  had  praised  the  tableaux,  as 
"  quite  creditable,  really,  considering  the  resources  we 
had,"  and  was  following  a  slight  lead  into  a  long  talk,  of 


230  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

information  and  advice  on  her  part,  about  Dixville  Notch. 
The  General  thought  he  should  go  there,  after  a  day  or 
two  at  Outledge. 

Just  here  came  up  Dakie  Thayne.  The  actors,  in 
costume,  were  gradually  mingling  among  the  audience, 
and  Barbara  Frietchie,  in  white  hair,  from  which  there 
was  not  time  to  remove  the  powder,  plain  cap  and  ker 
chief,  and  brown  woolen  gown,  with  her  silken  flag  yet 
in  her  hand,  came  with  him.  This  boy,  who  "  was  always 
everywhere,"  made  no  hesitation,  but  walked  straight  up 
to  the  central  group,  taking  Leslie  by  the  hand.  Close 
to  the  General,  he  waited  courteously  for  a  long  sentence 
of  Mrs.  Thoresby's  to  be  ended,  and  then  said,  simply, — 
"  Uncle  James,  this  is  my  friend  Miss  Leslie  Gold- 
thwaite.  My  brother,  Dr.  Ingleside — why,  where  is 
Noll?" 

Dr.  Oliver  Ingleside  had  stepped  out  of  the  circle  in 
the  last  half  of  the  long  sentence.  The  Sister  of  Mercy 
— no  longer  in  costume,  however — had  come  down  the 
little  flight  of  steps  that  led  from  the  stage  to  the  floor. 
At  their  foot  the  young  army  surgeon  was  shaking  hands 
with  Susan  Josselyn.  These  two  had  had  the  chess-prac 
tice  together — and  other  practice — down  there  among 
the  Southern  hospitals. 

Mrs.  Thoresby's  face  was  very  like  some  fabric  sub 
jected  to  chemical  experiment,  from  which  one  color  and 
aspect  has  been  suddenly  and  utterly  discharged  to  make 
room  for  something  different  and  new.  Between  the 
first  and  last  there  waits  a  blank.  With  this  blank  full 
upon  her,  she  stood  there  for  one  brief,  unprecedented 
instant  in  her  life,  a  figure  without  presence  or  effect.  I 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  231 

have  seen  a  daguerreotype  in  which  were  cap,  hair,  and 
collar,  quite  correct, — what  should  have  been  a  face 
rubbed  out.  Mrs.  Thoresby  rubbed  herself  out,  and  so 
performed  her  involuntary  tableau. 

"  Of  course  I  might  have  guessed.  I  wonder  it  never 
occurred  to  me,"  Mrs.  Linceford  was  replying,  presently, 
to  her  vacuous  inquiry.  "  The  name  seemed  familiar, 
too ;  only  he  called  himself  '  Dakie.'  I  remember  per 
fectly  now.  Old  Jacob  Thayne,  the  Chicage  million- 
naire.  He  married  pretty  little  Mrs.  Ingleside,  the 
Illinois  Representative's  widow,  that  first  winter  I  was 
in  Washington.  Why,  Dakie  must  be  a  dollar  prince !  " 

He  was  just  Dakie  Thayne,  though,  for  all  that.  He 
and  Leslie  and  Cousin  Delight, — the  Josselyns  and  the 
Inglesides, — dear  Miss  Craydocke,  hurrying  up  to  con 
gratulate, — Marmaduke  Wharne  looking  on  without  a 
shade  of  cynicism  in  the  gladness  of  his  face,  and  Sin 
Saxon  and  Frank  Scherman  flitting  up  in  the  pauses  of 
dance  and  promenade, — well,  after  all,  these  were  the 
central  group  that  night.  The  pivot  of  the  little  solar  sys 
tem  was  changed ;  but  the  chief  planets  made  but  slight 
account  of  that;  they  just  felt  that  it  had  grown  very 
warm  and  bright. 

"  O  Chicken  Little !  "  Mrs.  Linceford  cried  to  Leslie 
Goldthwaite,  giving  her  a  small  shake  with  her  good 
night  kiss  at  her  door.  "  How  did  you  know  the  sky  was 
going  to  fall  ?  And  how  have  you  led  us  all  this  chase  to 
cheat  Fox  Lox  at  last  ?  " 

But  that  wasn't  the  way  Chicken  Little  looked  at  it. 
She  didn't  care  much  for  the  bit  of  dramatic  denouement 
that  had  come  about  by  accident, — like  a  story,  Elinor 


232  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

said, — or  the  touch  of  poetic  justice  that  tickled 
Mrs.  Linceford's  world-instructed  sense  of  fun.  Dakie 
Thayne  wasn't  a  sum  that  needed  proving.  It  was  very 
nice  that  this  famous  general  should  be  his  uncle. — but 
not  at  all  strange :  they  were  just  the  sort  of  people  he 
must  belong  to.  And  it  was  nicest  of  all  that  Dr. 
Ingleside  and  Susan  Josselyn  should  have  known  each 
other, — "  in  the  glory  of  their  lives,"  she  phrased  it  to 
herself,  with  a  little  flash  of  girl-enthusiasm  and  a  vague 
suggestion  of  romance. 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  us  ?  "  Mrs.  Linceford  said  to  Da 
kie  Thayne  next  morning.  "  Everybody  would  have — " 
She  stopped.  She  could  not  tell  this  boy  to  his  frank 
face  that  everybody  would  have  thought  more  and  made 
more  of  him  because  his  uncle  had  got  brave  stars  on 
his  shoulders,  and  his  father  had  died  leaving  two  mil 
lions  or  so  of  dollars. 

"  I  know  they  would  have,"  said  Dakie  Thayne. 
"  That  was  just  it.  What  is  the  use  of  telling  things  ? 
I'll  wait  till  I've  done  something  that  tells  itself  ?  " 

There  was  a  pretty  general  break-up  at  Outledge  dur- 
in  the  week  following.  The  tableaux  were  the  finale  of 
the  season's  gayety, — of  this  particular  little  episode,  at 
least,  which  grew  out  of  the  association  together  of  these 
personages  of  our  story.  There  might  come  a  later  set, 
and  later  doings;  but  this  last  week  of  August  sent  the 
mere  summer-birds  fluttering.  Madam  Routh  must  be 
back  in  New  York,  to  prepare  for  the  reopening  of  her 
school;  Mrs.  Linceford  had  letters  from  her  husband, 

proposing  to  meet  her  by  the  first,  in  N ,  and  so  the 

Haddens  would  be  off ;  the  Thoresbys  had  stayed  as  long 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  233 

as  they  cared  to  in  any  one  place  where  there  seemed  no 
special  inducement ;  General  Ingleside  was  going  through 
the  mountains  to  Dixville  Notch.  Rose  Ingleside, — 
bright  and  charming  as  her  name, — just  a  fit  flower  to 
put  beside  our  Ladies'  Delight, — finding  out,  at  once, 
as  all  girls  and  women  did,  her  sweetness,  and  leaning 
more  and  more  to  the  rare  and  delicate  sphere  of  her 
quiet  attraction, — Oliver  and  Dakie  Thayne, — these  were 
his  family  party;  but  there  came  to  be  question  about 
Leslie  and  Delight.  Would  not  they  make  six?  And 
since  Mrs.  Linceford  and  her  sisters  must  go,  it  seemed 
so  exactly  the  thing  for  them  to  fall  into ;  otherwise  Miss 
Goldthwaite's  journey  hither  would  hardly  seem  to  have 
been  worth  while.  Early  September  was  so  lovely  among 
the  hills;  opportunities  for  a  party  to  Dixville  Notch 
would  not  come  every  day;  in  short,  Dakie  had  set  his 
heart  upon  it,  Rose  begged,  the  General  was  as  pressing  as 
true  politeness  would  allow,  and  it  was  settled. 

"  Only,"  Sin  Saxon  said,  suddenly,  on  being  told,  "  I 
should  like  if  yoi  would  tell  me,  General  Ingleside,  the 
precise  military  expression  synonymous  with  '  taking  the 
wind  out  of  one's  sails.'  Because  that's  just  what  you've 
done  for  me." 

"  My  dear  Miss  Saxon !  In  what  way  ?  " 
"  Invited  my  party, — some  of  them, — and  taken  my 
road.  That's  all.  I  spoke  first,  though  I  didn't  speak 
out  loud.  See  here !  "  And  she  produced  a  letter  from 
her  mother,  received  that  morning.  "  Observe  the  date, 
if  you  please, — August  24.  '  Your  letter  reached  me 
yesterday.'  And  it  had  travelled  round,  as  usual,  two 
days  in  papa's  pocket,  beside.  I  always  allow  for  that. 


234  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

'  I  quite  approve  your  plan ;  provided,  as  you  say,  the 
party  be  properly  matronized.  I ' — h'm — h'm ! — That 
refers  to  little  explanations  of  my  own.  Well,  all  is,  I 
was  going  to  do  this  very  thing, — with  enlargements. 
And  now  Miss  Craydocke  and  I  may  collapse." 

"  Why  ?  when  with  you  and  your  enlargements  we 
might  make  the  most  admirable  combination  ?  At  least, 
the  Dixville  road  is  open  to  all." 

"  Very  kind  of  you  to  say  so, — the  first  part,  I  mean, 
— if  you  could  possibly  have  helped  it.  But  there  are 
insurmountable  obstacles  on  that  Dixville  road — to  us. 
There's  a  lion  in  the  way.  Don't  you  see  we  should  be 
like  the  little  ragged  boys  running  after  the  soldier-com 
pany?  We  couldn't  think  of  putting  ourselves  in  that 
'  bony  light,'  especially  before  the  eyes  of  Mrs. — 
Grundy."  This  last,  as  Mrs.  Thoresby  swept  impress 
ively  along  the  piazza  in  full  dinner  costume. 

"  Unless  you  go  first,  and  we  run  after  you,"  suggested 
the  General. 

"  All  the  same.  You  talked  Dixville  to  her  the  very 
first  evening,  you  know.  No,  nobody  can  have  an  origi 
nal  Dixville  idea  any  more.  And  I've  been  asking  them, 
— the  Josselyns,  and  Mr.  Wharne  and  all,  and  was  just 
coming  to  the  Goldthwaites ;  and  now  I've  got  them  on 
my  hands,  and  I  don't  know  where  in  the  world  to  take 
them.  That  comes  of  keeping  an  inspiration  to  ripen. 
Well,  it's  a  lesson  of  wisdom !  Only,  as  Effie  says  about 
her  housekeeping,  the  two  dearest  things  in  living  are 
butter  and  experience !  " 

Amidst  laughter  and  banter  and  repartee,  they  came  to 
it,  of  course;  the  most  delightful  combination  and  joint 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  235 

arrangement.  Two  wagons,  the  General's  and  Dr.  In- 
gleside's  two  saddle-horses,  Frank  Scherman's  little  moun 
tain  mare,  that  climbed  like  a  cat,  and  was  sure-footed  as 
a  chamois, — these  with  a  side-saddle  for  the  use  of  i 
lady  sometimes  upon  the  last,  make  up  the  general  equip 
ment  of  the  expedition.  All  Mrs.  Grundy  knew  was 
that  they  were  wonderfully  merry  and  excited  together, 
until  this  plan  came  out  as  the  upshot. 

The  Josselyns  had  not  quite  consented  at  once,  though 
their  faces  were  bright  with  a  most  thankful  appreciation 
of  the  kindness  that  offered  them  such  a  pleasure; 
nay,  that  entreated  their  companionship  as  a  thing  so 
genuinely  coveted  to  make  its  own  pleasure  complete. 
Somehow,  when  the  whole  plan  developed,  there  was  a 
little  sudden  shrinking  on  Sue's  part,  perhaps  on  similar 
grounds  to  Sin  Saxon's  perception  of  insurmountable 
obstacles ;  but  she  was  shyer  than  Sin  of  putting  forth  her 
objections,  and  the  general  zeal  and  delight,  and  Martha's 
longing  look,  unconscious  of  cause  why  not,  carried  the 
day. 

There  had  never  been  a  blither  setting  off  from  the 
Giant's  Cairn.  All  the  remaining  guests  were  gathered 
to  see  them  go.  There  was  not  a  mote  in  the  blue  air 
between  Outledge  and  the  crest  of  Washington.  All  the 
subtile  strength  of  the  hills — ores  and  sweet  waters  and 
resinous  perfumes  and  breath  of  healing  leaf  and  root  dis 
tilled  to  absolute  purity  in  the  clear  ether  that  only  sweeps 
from  such  bare,  thunder-scoured  summits — made  up  the 
exhilarant  draught  in  which  they  drank  the  mountain-joy 
and  received  afar  off  its  baptism  of  delight. 

It  was  beautiful  to  see  the  Josselyns  so  girlish  and  gay ; 


236  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

it  was  lovely  to  look  at  old  Miss  Craydocke,  with  her  lit 
tle  tremors  of  pleasure,  and  the  sudden  glistenings  in  her 
eyes;  Sin  Saxon's  pretty  face  was  clear  and  noble,  with 
its  pure  impulse  of  kindliness,  and  her  fun  was  like  a 
sparkle  upon  deep  waters.  Dakie  Thayne  rushed  about 
in  a  sort  of  general  satisfaction  which  would  not  let  him 
be  quiet  anywhere.  Outsiders  looked  with  a  kind  of  new, 
half-jealous  respect  on  these  privileged  few  who  had  so 
suddenly  become  the  "  General's  party."  Sin  Saxon 
whispered  to  Leslie  Goldthwaite, — "  It's  neither  his  nor 
mine,  honeysuckle;  it's  yours, — Henny-penny  and  all 
the  rest  of  it,  as  Mrs.  Linceford  said."  Leslie  was  glad 
with  the  crowning  gladness  of  her  bright  summer. 

"  That  girl  has  played  her  cards  well,"  Mrs.  Thoresby 
said  of  her,  a  little  below  her  voice,  as  she  saw  the  General 
himself  making  her  especially  comfortable  with  Cousin 
Delight  in  a  back  seat. 

"  Particularly,  my  dear  madam,"  said  Marmaduke 
Wharne,  coming  close  and  speaking  with  clear  emphasis, 
"  as  she  could  not  possibly  have  known  that  she  had  a 
trump  in  her  hand !  " 

To  tell  of  all  that  week's  journeying,  and  of  Dixville 
]S"otch, — the  adventure,  the  brightness,  the  beauty,  and 
the  glory, — the  sympathy  of  abounding  enjoyment,  the 
waking  of  new  life  that  it  was  to  some  of  them, — the 
interchange  of  thought,  the,  cementing  of  friendships, — 
would  be  to  begin  another  story,  possibly  a  yet  longer  one. 
Leslie's  summer,  according  to  the  calendar,  is  already 
ended.  Much  in  this  world  must  pause  unfinished,  or 
come  to  abrupt  conclusion.  People  "  die  suddenly  at 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  237 

last,"  after  the  most  tedious  illnesses.  "  Married  and 
lived  happy  ever  after/'  is  the  inclusive  summary  that 
winds  up  many  an  old  tale  whose  time  of  action  only  runs 
through  hours.  If  in  this  summer-time  with  Leslie  Gold- 
thwaite  your  thoughts  have  broadened  somewhat  with 
hers,  some  questions  for  you  have  been  partly  answered ; 
if  it  has  appeared  to  you  how  a  life  enriches  itself  by 
drawing  toward  and  going  forth  into  the  life  of  others 
through  seeing  how  this  began  with  her,  it  is  no  unfin 
ished  tale  that  I  leave  with  you. 

A  little  picture  I  will  give  you,  farther  on,  a  hint  of 
something  farther  yet,  and  say  good  by. 

Some  of  them  came  back  to  Outledge,  and  stayed  far 
into  the  still  rich  September.  Delight  and  Leslie  sat 
before  the  Green  Cottage  one  morning,  in  the  heart  of  a 
golden  haze  and  a  gorgeous  bloom.  All  around  the  feet 
of  the  great  hills  lay  the  garlands  of  early-ripened 
autumn.  You  see  nothing  like  it  in  the  lowlands ; — noth 
ing  like  the  fire  of  the  maples,  the  carbuncle-splendor  of 
the  oaks,  the  flash  of  scarlet  sumachs  and  creepers,  the 
illumination  of  every  kind  of  little  leaf,  in  its  own  way, 
upon  which  the  frost-touch  comes  down  from  those 
tremendous  heights  that  stand  rimy  in  each  morning's 
sun,  trying  on  white  caps  that  by  and  by  they  shall  pull 
down  heavily  over  their  brows,  till  they  cloak  all  their 
shoulders  also  in  the  like  sculptured  folds,  to  stand  and 
wait,  blind,  awful  chrysalides,  through  the  long  winter 
of  their  death  and  silence. 

Delight  and  Leslie  had  got  letters  from  the  Josselyns 
and  Dakie  Thayne.  There  was  news  in  them  such  as 
thrills  always  the  half-comprehending  sympathies  of  girl- 


238  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life. 

hood.  Leslie's  vague  suggestion  of  romance  had  become 
fulfilment.  Dakie  Thayne  was  wild  with  rejoicing  that 
dear  old  Noll  was  to  marry  Sue.  "  She  had  always  made 
him  think  of  Noll,  and  his  ways  and  likings,  ever  since 
that  day  of  the  game  of  chess  that  by  his  means  came  to 
grief.  It  was  awful  slang,  but  he  could  not  help  it:  it 
was  just  the  very  jolliest  go !  " 

Susan  Josselyn's  quiet  letter  said, — "  That  kindness 
which  kept  us  on  and  made  it  beautiful  for  us,  strangers, 
at  Outledge,  has  brought  to  me,  by  God's  providence, 
this  great  happiness  of  my  life." 

After  a  long  pause  of  trying  to  take  it  in,  Leslie  looked 
up.  "  What  a  summer  this  has  been !  So  full, — so 
much  has  happened !  I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  living  such 
a  great  deal !  " 

"  You  have  been  living  in  others'  lives.  You  have  had 
a  great  deal  to  do  with  what  has  happened." 

"  O  Cousin  Delight !  I  have  only  been  among  it !  I 
could  not  do — except  such  a  very  little." 

"  There  is  a  working  from  us  beyond  our  own.  But 
if  our  working  runs  with  that — ?  You  have  done  more 
than  you  will  ever  know,  little  one."  Delight  Gold- 
thwaite  spoke  very  tenderly.  Her  own  life,  somehow, 
had  been  closely  touched,  through  that  which  had  grown, 
and  gathered  about  Leslie.  "  It  depends  on  that  abiding. 
'  In  me,  and  I  in  you ;  so  shall  ye  bear  much  fruit.' ' 

She  stopped.  She  would  not  say  more.  Leslie 
thought  her  talking  rather  wide  of  the  first  suggestion; 
but  this  child  would  never  know,  as  Delight  had  said, 
what  a  centre,  in  her  simple,  loving  way,  she  had  been 
for  the  working  of  a  purpose  beyond  her  thought. 


A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life.  239 

Sin  Saxon  came  across  the  lawn,  crowned  with  gold 
and  scarlet,  trailing  creepers  twined  about  her  shoulders, 
and  flames  of  beauty  in  her  full  hands.  "  Miss  Cray- 
docke  says  she  praised  God  with  every  leaf  she  took.  I'm 
afraid  I  forgot  to — for  the  little  ones.  But  I  was  so 
greedy  and  so  busy,  getting  them  all  for  her.  Come, 
Miss  Craydocke ;  we've  got  no  end  of  pressing  to  do,  to 
save  half  of  them !  " 

"  She  can't  do  enough  for  her.  O  Cousin  Delight, 
the  leaves  are  glorified,  after  all !  Asenath  never  was 
so  charming ;  and  she  is  more  beautiful  than  ever !  " 

Delight's  glance  took  in  also  another  face  than  Ase- 
nath's,  grown  into  something  in  these  months  that  no 
training  or  taking  thought  could  have  done  for  it. 
"  Yes,"  she  said,  in  the  same  still  way  in  which  she  had 
spoken  before,  "  that  comes  too, — as  God  wills.  All 
things  shall  be  added." 

My  hint  is  of  a  Western  home,  just  outside  the  leaping 
growth  and  ceaseless  stir  of  a  great  Western  city ;  a  large, 
low,  cosy  mansion,  with  a  certain  Old- World  mellowness 
and  rest  in  its  aspect, — looking  forth,  even,  as  it  does  on 
one  side,  upon  the  illimitable  sunset-ward  sweep  of  the 
magnificent  promise  of  the  New ;  on  the  other,  it  catches 
a  glimpse,  beyond  and  beside  the  town,  of  the  calm  blue 
of  a  fresh-water  ocean. 

The  place  is  "  Ingleside  " ;  the  General  will  call  it  by 
no  other  than  the  family  name, — the  sweet  Scottish  syn- 
onyme  for  Home-corner.  And  here,  while  I  have  been 
writing  and  you  reading  these  pages,  he  has  had  them  all 
with  him;  Oliver  and  Susan,  on  their  bridal  journey, 


240  A  Summer  in  Leslie  Goldthwaite's  Life, 

which  waited  for  summer-time  to  come  again,  though 
they  have  been  six  months  married ;  Rose,  of  course,  and 
Dakie  Thayne,  home  in  vacation  from  a  great  school 
where  he  is  studying  hard,  hoping  for  West  Point  by 
and  by ;  Leslie  Goldthwaite,  who  is  Dakie's  inspiration 
still ;  and  our  Flower,  our  Pansie,  our  Delight, — golden- 
eyed  Lady  of  innumerable  sweet  names. 

The  sweetest  and  truest  of  all,  says  the  brave  soldier 
and  high-souled  gentleman,  is  that  which  he  has  per 
suaded  her  to  wear  for  life, — Delight  Ingleside. 

THE  BNB. 


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cf 
Mary 


THIS  popular  novel  writer 
has    written     a    large 
number    of    successful 
books  that  have  been  widely 
circulated  and  are  constantly 
in  demand.    We  issue  twenty 
of  them  as  below  : 

Aikenside, 

Bad  Hugh, 

Cousin  Maude, 

Darkness  and  Daylight, 

Dora  Deane, 

Edith  Lyle's  Secret, 

English  Orphans, 

Ethelyn's  Mistake, 

Family  Pride, 

Homestead  on  the  Hillside, 

Leighton  Homestead, 

Lena  Rivers, 

Maggie  Miller, 

Marian  Grey, 

Mildred, 

Millbank, 

Miss  McDonald 

Rector  of  St.  Marks, 

Rose  Mather, 

Tempest  and  Sunshine. 

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supplied,  postpaid,  in  cloth 
binding,  at  300. 


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Helen's 
Babies 

By 

John  Habberton 

Interesting ! 
Entertaining ! 
Amusing ! 


A  BOOK  with  a  famous  reputation.  It  is  safe  to 
say  that  no  book,  illustrating  the  doings  of  child 
ren,  has  ever  been  published  that  has  reached  the 
popularity  enjoyed  by  "  HELEN'S  BABIES."  Brilliantly 
written,  Habberton  records  in  this  volume  some  of  the 
cutest,  wittiest  and  most  amusing  of  childish  sayings, 
whims  and  pranks,  all  at  the  expense  of  a  bachelor 
uncle.  The  book  is  elaborately  illustrated,  which 
greatly  assists  the  reader  in  appreciating  page  by  page, 
Habberton's  masterpiece. 
Published  as  follows : 

Popular  Price  Edition,  Cloth,  60c.,  Postpaid. 

Quarto  Edition,   with   Six  Colored   Plates,   Cloth, 
$1.25,  Postpaid. 

We  guarantee  that  you  will  not  suffer  from  "the 
blues  "  after  reading  this  book. 

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T 


Southworth  Books 

AH  by  E.  D.  E.  N.  SOUTHWORTH 

A  charming  novelist,  whose  writings  are 
brimful  of  action.  Mrs.  Sonthworth  is  the 
magnet  around  which  other  novelists  centre. 
We  publish  twenty-seven  of  her  best  works. 
The  titles  are  : 


All-worth  Abbey. 
Beautiful  Fiend,  A. 
Bride's  Fate,  The. 
Bride  of  Llewellyn. 
Capitola,  the  Madcap. 
Changed  Brides. 
Cruel  as  the  Grave. 
Curse  of  Clifton,  The. 
Deserted  Wife. 
Discarded  Daughter. 
Hidden  Hand 
India. 
Ishmael;  or.  In  the 

Depths. 
Lost  Heiress,  The. 


Lost  Heir  of  Linlithgow 

Miriam  the  Avenger. 

Missing  Bride,  The. 

Mother-in-Law,  The. 

Mystery  of  a  Dark  Hol 
low. 

Noble  Lord. 

Retribution. 

Self -Raised;  or,  From 
the  Depths. 

Three  Beauties,  The. 

Tried  for  Her  Life. 

Victor's  Triumph. 

Vivia. 

Widow's  Son. 


/COST  OF  MAILING^ 
(        INCLUDED.         / 


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ing  for  it. 

HURST  &  CO.,        Publishers,        NEW  YORK 


Gvnter's  Novels 


There  are  some  people  to  be  found  who  have 
never  read  "Mr.  Barnes  of  New  York"  and  'Mr. 
Potter  of  Texas,"  by  that  fascinating  writer  of 
vivid  and  satisfying"  stories,  ARCHIBALD  CLAVERING 
GUNTER,  and  yet  millions  have  been  circulated  of 
his  popular  works.  Get  acquainted  with  him  by 
purchasing  one  or  more  of  his  thirty-  five  books 
named  below: 


A  Prince  in  the  Garret. 
The  Man  Behind  the  Door. 
Phil.  Conway. 
The  Consience  of  a  King. 
The  Surprises    of   an   Empty 

Hotel. 

The  Spy  Company. 
The  City  of  Mystery. 
The  Deacon's  Second  Wind. 
Tangled  Flags. 
The  Princess  of  Copper. 
Adrienne  de  Portalis. 
The  Fighting  Troubadour. 
M.  S.  Bradford,  Special. 
Jack  Curzon. 
A  Lost  American. 
Mr.  Barnes  of  New  York. 
Mr.  Potter  of  Texas. 
Miss  Nobody  of  Nowhere. 


That  Frenchman. 

Miss  Dividends. 

Baron  Montez  of  Panama  and 

Paris. 

The  King's  Stockbroker. 
The  First  of  the  English. 
The  Ladies'  Juggernaut. 
Her  Senator. 

Don  Balasco  of  Key  West. 
Bob  Covington. 
Susan  Turnbull. 
Ballyho  Bey. 
Billy  Hamilton. 
My  Japanese  Prince. 
A  Florida  Enchantment. 
How  I  Escaped. 
The  Love  Adventures  of  Al- 


PRICESt     Cloth  Bound  Edition,  50c.     Paper  Covers,  25c. 

(Postage  paid  in  either  case.) 

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HURST  &  CO.,  Publishers,  NEW  YORK 


Books  by 

MRS.  L  T.  MEADE 

There  is  no  writer  of  girls' 
books  more  popular  than 
Mrs.  L.  T.  Meade.  Her 
books  are  interesting  and 
wholesome  and  her  reputa 
tion  such  that  girls  delight  in  securing  as  many 
of  her  works  as  possible.  We  publish  below  a 
list  of  her  best: 


Daddy's  Girl. 

Dr.  Rumsey's  Patient. 

Francis  Kane's  Fortune. 

Gay  Charmer,  A. 

Girl  in  Ten  Thousand,  A. 

Girl  of  the  People,  A. 

Girls  of  the  True  Blue. 

Heart  of  Gold,  The. 

Honorable  Miss,  The. 

How  It  All  Came  About. 


Merry  Girls  of  England. 

Miss  Nonentity. 

Palace  Beautiful. 

Polly,  a  New-Fashioned  Girl 

Rebels  of  the  School. 

Sweet  Girl  Graduate,  A. 

Very  Naughty  Girl,  A. 

Wild  Kitty. 

World  of  Girls. 

Young  Mutineers,  The, 


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of  Fifty  Cents. 

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HURST  &  CO.,    Publishers,    NEW  YORK 


Louisa  May 
Alcott's  Works 

Author  of 

"Little  Men"  and 
«« Little  Women" 


No  library  for  girls  is  complete  without 
the  works  of  this  celebrated  authoress  in  it. 
Books  absolutely  wholesome  and  sought  and 
eagerly  read  by  girls  everywhere. 


A  Modern  Cinderella. 
Flower  Fables. 
Hospital  Sketches, 
moods. 


Louisa  May  Alcotfc 
Louisa  May  Alcotfc 
Louisa  May  Alcotfc 
Louisa  May  Alcotfc 


Books  by  Mrs.  A.  D.  T.  Whitney, 

another  famous  authoress  whom  girls  delight  in  : 

Faith  Gartney's  Girlhood. 

Mrs.  A.  D.  T.  Whitney 

Cia> \\ortliys.  Mrs.  A.  D.  T.  Whitney 

Any  book  sent  postpaid,    upon  receipt    of 
Fifty  Cents. 

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HURST  &  CO.,  Publishers,  NEW  YORK 


Little 
Prudy 
Books 


A  handsome  little  series  of  books  by 
that  popular  writer  of  books  for  the  little 
folks  —  SOPHIE  MAY.  This  authoress 
knows  how  to  please  the  young  people 
and  countless  numbers  of  these  stories 
have  been  sold.  We  issue  them  at  a 
popular  price. 


LITTLE  PRUDY. 


Sophie  May 


LITTLE  TRUDY'S  CAPTAIN  HORACE.  Sophie  May 

LITTLE  PRUDY'S  COUSIN  GRACE.  Sophie  May 

LITTLE  PRUDY'S  DOTTY  DIMPLE.  Sophie  May 

LITTLE  PRUDY'S  SISTER  SUSY.  Sophie  May 

LITTLE  PRUDY'S  STORY  BOOK.  Sophie  May 

Sent,   postage   paid,    upon   receipt    of 
Fifty  Cents. 

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alogue. 

HURST  *  CO.,    Publishers,    NEW  YOBK 


Log  Cabin  to  While 
House  Series 

A  famous  series  of  books, 
formerly  sold  at  $2.00  per 
copy,  are  now  popularized 
by  reducing  the  price  less 
than  half.  The  lives  of  these 
famous  Americans  are  worthy 
of  a  place  in  any  library.  A 
new  book  by  Edward  S.  Ellis 
— "From  Ranch  to  White  House" — is  a  life  of 
Theodore  Roosevelt,  while  the  author  of  the 
others,  William  M.  Thayer,  is  a  celebrated 
biographer. 

FROM  RANCH  TO  WHITE  HOUSE  ;  Life  of  Theodore  Roosevelt. 
FROM  BOYHOOD  TO  MANHOOD ;  Life  of  Benjamin  Franklin. 
FROM  FARM  HOUSE  TO  WHITE  HOUSE;  Life  of  George 

Washington. 
FROM   LOG  CABIN  TO    WHITE   HOUSE ;  Life  of  James  A. 

Garfield. 

FROM  PIONEER  HOME  TO  WHITE  HOUSE ;  Life  of  Abraham 
Lincoln. 

FROM  TANNERY  TO  WHITE  HOUSE ;  Life  of  Ulysses  S.  Grant. 
SUCCESS  AND  ITS  ACHIEVERS. 
TACT,  PUSH  AND  PRINCIPLE. 

These  titles,  though  by  different  authors,  also 
belong  to  this  series  of  books: 

FROM  COTTAGE  TO  CASTLE ;  The  Story  of  Gutenberg,  Invent- 

or  of  Printing.    By  Mrs.  E.  C.  Pearson. 
CAPITAL  FOR  WORKING  BOYS.    By  Mrs.  Julia  E.  M'Conaughy. 

Price,  postpaid,   for  any  of  the  above  ten 
books,  75c. 

A  complete  catalogue  sent  for  the  asking. 

HURST  &  CO.      Publishers,      NEW  YORK 


BIOGRAPHICAL 
LIBRARY 

0!  the  Lives  of  Great  Me* 

A  limited  line  comprising 
subjects  pertaining  to  the 
careers  of  men  who  have 
helped  to  mould  the  world's 
history.  A  library  is  incom 
plete  without  the  entire  set. 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN,  LIFE  OF — American  Statesman  and 

Discoverer  of  Electricity. 

CHRISTOPHER  COLUMBUS,  LIFE  OF — Discoverer  of  Amer 
ica. 
DANIEL  BOONE,   LIFE  OF — Famous  Kentucky  Explorer 

and  Scout. 
DANIEL  WEBSTER,   LIFE  OF — American  Statesman  and 

Diplomat. 
DISTINGUISHED  AMERICAN  ORATORS — Who  Have  Helped 

to  Mould  American  Events. 

EMINENT  AMERICANS — Makers  of  United  States  History. 
JOHN  GUTENBERG,  LIFE  OF — Inventor  of  Printing, 
NAPOLEON  AND  His  MARSHALS — Celebrated  French  Gen- 

eral  and  Commander. 
ORATORS   OF    THE    AMERICAN    REVOLUTION  —  Whose 

Speeches  King  With  Patriotism. 
PAUL  JONES,  LIFE  OF — American  Naval  Hero. 
PATRICK    HENRY,     LIFE    OF — Distinguished    American 

Orator  and  Patriot. 
PHILIP  H.  SHERIDAN,  LIFE  OF — "Little  Phil";  Famous 

Union  General  During  the  Civil  War. 
WASHINGTON  AND  His  GENERALS — First  President  of 

the  United  States,  Revolutionary  A_my  General  and 

Statesman. 


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HURST  &  CO.     Publishers,     NEW  YOBK 


Books  by 

Edward 
S.  Ellis 


One  of  the  most  popular  writers 
of  boys'  stories  in  America  to-day. 
This  author  has  the  happy  faculty  of 
pleasing  the  boys  with  writings  which 
are  noted  for  their  animation  and  ex 
citement.  A  select  list  is  named 
below : 

Famous  American  Naval  Commanders 

Golden  Hock 
The  Jungle  Fugitives 

Land  of  Mystery 
Old  Ironsides;  Hero  of  Tripoli  and  1812 

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CATALOGUE  TO  YOU 

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BOOKS  BY 

Charles  Carleton  Coffin 

Author  of 

"  Boys  of  »76  " 

"  Boys  of  >Gx  »» 

/CHARLES  CARLE- 
^  TON  COFFIN'S 
specialty  is  books  per 
taining  to  the  War. 
His  celebrated  writings 
with  reference  to  the 
Great  Rebellion  have 
been  read  by  thousands.  We  have  popular 
ized  him  by  publishing  his  best  works  at 
reduced  prices. 

Folio-wing:  tne  Flag:.       Charles  Carleton  Coffin 

ray  Days  and  iXigrhts  on  tne  Battlefield. 

Charles  Carleton  Coffin 

'Winning:  His  'Way.  Charles  Carleton  Coffin 

Six  Xignts  in  a  Block  House. 

Henry  C.  Watson 


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paid,  Fifty  Cents. 

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'Palmer  Cox's  Brownie 

JlOnfe  Illustrated  by  PALMER  Cox 

Thousands  who  have  paid  #i.5o  for 
PALMER  Cox's  BROWNIE  BOOK  never  im 
agined  it  would  be  issued  at  a  popular 
price.  We  offer  the  same  book  in  all 
respects  for  30  cents,  postpaid. 

Wee  cMacgreegor 

A  Scottish  Story  by  J.  J.  BELL. 

One  of  England's  best  selling  books  to 
day,  where  it  is  "  all  the  rage."  Thousands 
have  been  sold  here  at  high  prices,  but 
with  our  facilities  for  cheap  manufacturing, 
we  can  supply  a  dainty  edition,  bound  in 
cloth,  at  36  cents,  postpaid. 

OBTAIN  OUR  COMPLETE  CATALOGUE. 

BEST  &  CO.,  Publishers,  395-399  Broadway,  New  York. 


Capl.  Marryafs  Works 

This  writer  is  cele 
brated  for  his  Sea 
Stories.  They  are 
bound  to  please  and 
entertain  their  read 
ers  and  we  urgently 
ask  that  boys  obtain 
the  complete  set  of 

six  books.     No  library  is   complete 

without  them. 

Jacob  Faithful 
Japliet  in  Search  of  a  Father 

Masterman  Heady 
Mr.  Midshipman  Easy 

Peter  Simple 
Rattlin,  the  Reefer 

Sent  anywhere,  postage  paid,  upon 
receipt  of  Fifty  Cents. 

COMPLETE   CATALOGUE 
SENT  WHEN  REQUESTED 

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Just  Issued  at  a 
Popular  Price 

Hans 
Brinker 


or 


The  Silver  Skates 

toy 
MARY  HI  APES  DODGE 


charming  story,  depicting  life  in 
Holland,  is  now  published  for  the  first 
time  at  popular  prices.  Whether  you  have 
been  to  '  '  The  Land  of  the  Dykes  "  or  not, 
you  will  want  to  read  this  famous  book. 

We  make  a  handsome  cloth  bound  edition 
of  it,  which  we  will  mail  anywhere,  post 
paid,  upon  receipt  of  Fifty  Cents. 

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Harry 

Castlemon 

Books 


The  popularity  enjoyed  by  Harry 
Castlemon  as  a  writer  of  interesting 
books  for  boys  is  second  to  none.  His 
works  are  celebrated  everywhere  and 
in  great  demand.  We  publish  a  few  of 
the  best. 


BOY  TRAPPERS 

FRANK  AT  DON  CARLOS   RANCHO 

FRANK  BEFORE  VICKSBURG 

FRANK  IN  THE  WOODS 

FRANK  ON  A  GUNBOAT 

FRANK  ON  THE  PRAIRIE 

FRANK,  THE  YOUNG  NATURALIST 


Sent  to  any  address,  postage  paid,  upon  receipt 
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flORST  5  CO.,  Publishers,  NEW  YORK 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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